UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


G  000  083  578  5 


Si^    0-.7  '„ 


Translated .  by  L apcadio  Mearm 

ont  OF 

CLEOPATRA'S  AlûATS 

AMD 

OTAER  FAMTA5TIC  RO/nAA^CtÔ 

BY 

Tmeopaile  Gautier 


PUBLI5MED  BY  BRE/HTAMQS 

AT  UMIOM  SQUARE.  AEW  YORK 

1900 


Copyright,  1890,  by 
WORTHINGTON    CO. 

Copyright,   1899,  by 
BRENT  ANO'S 


Tke  love    that  caught  strange    light  from 

death's  own  eyes. 
And  filled  death's  lips  with  fiery  words  and 

sighs. 
And,  half  asleep,  let  feed  from  veins  of  his 
Her  close,  red,  warm  snake' s-mouth,  Egyp' 

tian-wise  : 

And  that  great  night  of  love  more  strange 

than  this, 
When  she  that  made  the  whole  world 's  bale 
and  bliss 
Made   king  of   the    whole   world's  desire 
a  slave 
And  killed  him  in  mid-kingdom  with  a  kiss. 

Swinburne. 

"  Memorial  verses  on  the  death  of  Théophile  Gautier ^ 


661854 


TO   THE    READER 

The  stories  composing  this  volume  have 
been  selected  for  translation  from  the  two 
volumes  of  romances  and  tales  by  Théophile 
Gautier  respectively  entitled  Nouvelles  and 
Romans  et  Contes,  They  afïord  in  the  orig- 
inal many  excellent  examples  of  that  pecul- 
iar beauty  of  fancy  and  power  of  painting 
with  words  which  made  Gautier  the  most 
brilliant  literary  artist  of  his  time.  No 
doubt  their  warmth  of  coloring  has  been  im- 
poverished and  their  fantastic  enchantment 
weakened  by  the  process  of  transformation 
into  a  less  voluptuous  tongue;  yet  enough 
of  the  original  charm  remains,  we  trust,  to 
convey  a  just  idea  of  the  French  author's 
rich  imaginative  power  and  ornate  luxuri- 
ance of  style. 

The  verses  of  Swinburne  referring  to  the 
witchery  of  the  novelette  which  opens  the 
volume,   and   to   the   peculiarly  sweet   and 


Vi  TO  THE  READER 

strange  romance  which  follows,  sufficiently 
indicate  the  extraordinary  art  of  these  tales. 
At  least  three  of  the  stories  we  have  at- 
tempted to  translate  rank  among  the  most 
remarkable  literary  productions  of  the  cen- 
tury. 

These  little  romances  are  characterized, 
however,  by  merits  other  than  those  of  mere 
literary  workmanship;  they  are  further  re- 
markable for  a  wealth  of  erudition — pictur- 
esque learning,  we  might  say — which  often 
lends  them  an  actual  archaeologic  value,  like 
the  paintings  of  some  scholarly  artist,  some 
Alma  Tadema,  who  with  fair  magic  of  color- 
blending  evokes  for  us  eidolons  of  ages  van- 
ished and  civilizations  passed  away. 

Thus  one  finds  in  the  delightful  fantasy  of 
Arria  Marcella  not  only  a  dream  of  "  Pom- 
peiian  Days,"  pictured  with  an  idealistic 
brilliancy  beyond  the  art  of  Coomans,  but 
a  rich  knowledge,  likewise,  of  all  that  fas- 
cinating lore  gleaned  by  antiquarian  research 
amid  the  ashes  of  the  sepultured  city — a 
knowledge  enriched  in  no  small  degree  by 
local  study,  and  presented  with  a  descriptive 
power  finely  strengthened  by  personal  ob- 


TO  THE  READER  Vll 

servation.  It  is  something  more  than  the 
charming  imagination  of  a  poetic  dreamer 
which  paints  for  us  the  blue  sea  '*  unrolling 
its  long  volutes  of  foam  "  upon  a  beach  as 
black  and  smooth  as  sifted  charcoal;  the 
fissured  summit  of  Vesuvius,  out-pouring 
white  threads  of  smoke  from  its  crannies 
"  as  from  the  orifices  of  a  perfuming  pan;  ** 
and  the  far-purple  hills  "  with  outlines 
voluptuously  undulating,  like  the  hips  of  a 
woman." 

And  throughout  these  romances  one  finds 
the  same  evidences  of  archaeologic  study,  of 
artistic  observation,  of  imagination  fostered 
by  picturesque  fact.  The  glory  of  the  Greek 
kings  of  Lydia  glows  goldenly  again  in  the 
pages  of  Le  Rot  Candaule  ;  the  massive 
gloom  and  melancholy  weirdness  of  ancient 
Egypt  is  reflected  as  in  a  necromancer's  mir- 
ror throughout  Une  Nuit  de  Clêopâtre.  It 
is  in  the  Egyptian  fantasies,  perhaps,  that 
the  author's  peculiar  descriptive  skill  ap- 
pears to  most  advantage  ;  the  still  fresh  hues 
of  the  hierophantic  paintings,  the  pictured 
sarcophagi,  and  the  mummy-gilding  seem 
to  meet  the  reader's  eye  with  the  gratifica- 


via  TO  THE  READER 

tion  of  their  bright  contrasts;  a  faint  per- 
fume of  unknown  balm  seems  to  hover  over 
the  open  pages;  and  mysterious  sphinxes 
appear  to  look  on  "  with  that  undefinable 
rose-granite  smile  that  mocks  our  modern 
wisdom," 

Excepting  Omphale  and  La  Morte  Amo- 
reuse,  the  stories  selected  for  translation  are 
mostly  antique  in  composition  and  coloring; 
the  former  being  Louis-Quinze,  the  latter 
mediaeval  rather  than  aught  else.  But  all 
alike  frame  some  exquisite  delineation  of 
young  love-fancies  ;  some  admirable  picture 
of  what  Gautier  in  the  Histoire  du  Roman- 
tisme  has  prettily  termed  "  the  graceful  sue- 
cubi  that  haunt  the  happy  slumbers  of 
youth." 

And  what  dreamful  student  of  the  Beauti- 
ful has  not  been  once  enamoured  of  an  Arria 
Marcella,  and  worshipped  on  the  altar  of  his 
heart  those  ancient  gods  "  who  loved  life 
and  youth  and  beauty  and  pleasure  "?  How 
many  a  lover  of  mediaeval  legend  has  in 
fancy  gladly  bartered  the  blood  of  his  veins 
for  some  phantom  Clarimonde  ?  What  true 
artist  has  not  at  some  time  been  haunted  by 


TO  THE  READER  IX 

the  image  of  a  Nyssia,  fairer  than  all  daugh- 
ters of  men,  lovelier  than  all  fantasies  real- 
ized in  stone — a  Pygmalion-wrought  marble 
transmuted  by  divine  alchemy  to  a  being  of 
opalescent  flesh  and  ichor-throbbing  veins  ? 
Gautier  was  an  artist  in  the  common  ac- 
ceptation of  the  term,  as  well  as  a  poet  and  a 
writer  of  romance  ;  and  in  those  pleasant  frag- 
ments of  autobiography  scattered  through 
the  Histoire  du  Romantisme  we  find  his  aver- 
ment that  at  the  commencement  of  the  Ro- 
mantic movement  of  1830  he  was  yet  unde- 
cided whether  to  adopt  literature  or  art  as  a 
profession;  but,  finding  it  *'  easier  to  paint 
with  words  than  with  colors,"  he  finally  de- 
cided upon  the  pen  as  his  weapon  in  the 
new  warfare  against  "  the  hydra  of  classi- 
cism with  its  hundred  peruked  heads."  As 
a  writer,  however,  he  remained  the  artist 
still.  His  pages  were  pictures,  his  sentences 
touches  of  color;  he  learned,  indeed,  to 
"  paint  with  words"  as  no  other  writer  of 
the  century  has  done  ;  and  created  a  power- 
ful impression,  not  only  upon  the  literature 
of  his  day,  but  even,  it  may  be  said,  upon 
the  language  of  his  nation. 


X  TO  THE  READER 

Possessed  of  an  almost  matchless  imagina- 
tive power,  and  a  sense  of  beauty  as  refined 
as  that  of  an  antique  sculptor,  Gautier  so 
perfects  his  work  as  to  leave  nothing  for  the 
imagination  of  his  readers  to  desire.  He  in- 
sists  that  they  should  behold  the  author's 
fancy  precisely  as  the  author  himself  fancied 
it  with  all  its  details;  the  position  of  ob- 
jects, the  effects  of  light,  the  disposition  of 
shadow,  the  material  of  garments,  the  tex- 
ture of  stuffs,  the  interstices  of  stonework, 
the  gleam  of  a  lamp  upon  sharp  angles  of 
furniture,  the  whispering  sound  of  trailing 
silk,  the  tone  of  a  voice,  the  expression  of  a 
face — all  is  visible,  audible,  tangible.  You 
can  find  nothing  in  one  of  his  picturesque 
scenes  which  has  not  been  treated  with  a 
studied  accuracy  of  minute  detail  that  leaves 
no  vacancy  for  the  eye  to  light  upon,  no 
hiatus  for  the  imagination  to  supply.  This 
is  the  art  of  painting  carried  to  the  highest 
perfection  in  literature.  It  is  not  wonderful 
that  such  a  man  should  at  times  sacrifice 
style  to  description  ;  and  he  has  himself  ac- 
knowledged an  occasional  abuse  of  violent 
coloring. 


TO  THE  READER  XI 

Naturally,  a  writer  of  this  kind  pays  small 
regard  to  the  demands  of  prudery.  His 
work  being  that  of  the  artist,  he  claims  the 
privilege  of  the  sculptor  and  the  painter  in 
delineations  of  the  beautiful.  A  perfect 
human  body  is  to  him  the  most  beautiful  of 
objects.  He  does  not  seek  to  veil  its  love- 
liness with  cumbrous  drapery;  he  delights 
to  behold  it  and  depict  it  in  its  "  divine 
nudity;"  he  views  it  with  the  eyes  of  the 
Corinthian  statuary  or  the  Pompeiian  fresco- 
painter;  he  idealizes  even  the  ideal  of 
beauty:  under  his  treatment  flesh  becomes 
diaphanous,  eyes  are  transformed  to  orbs  of 
prismatic  light,  features  take  tints  of  celes- 
tial loveliness.  Like  the  Hellenic  sculptor, 
he  is  not  satisfied  with  beauty  of  form  alone, 
but  must  add  a  vital  glow  of  delicate  color- 
ing to  the  white  limbs  and  snowy  bosom  of 
marble. 

It  is  the  artist,  therefore,  who  must  judge 
of  Gautier's  creations.  To  the  lovers  of  the 
loveliness  of  the  antique  world,  the  lovers 
of  physical  beauty  and  artistic  truth,  of  the 
charm  of  youthful  dreams  and  young  passion 
in  its  blossoming,  of  poetic  ambitions  and 


Xll  TO  THE  READER 

the  sweet  pantheism  that  finds  all  Nature 
vitalized  by  the  Spirit  of  the  Beautiful — to 
such  the  first  English  version  of  these  grace- 
ful fantasies  is  offered  in  the  hope  that  it 
may  not  be  found  wholly  unworthy  of  the 
original. 

L.  H. 
New  Orleans,  1882. 


One  of  Cleopatra's  Nights 


ONE  Of 

CLE0PATRA5 

NlfiHTS 


CHAPTER   I 

Nineteen  hundred  years  ago  from  the 
date  of  this  writing,  a  magnificently  gilded 
and  painted  cangia  was  descending  the  Nile 
as  rapidly  as  fifty  long,  flat  oars,  which 
seemed  to  crawl  over  the  furrowed  water 
like  the  legs  of  a  gigantic  scarabaeus,  could 
impel  it. 

This  cangia  was  narrow,  long,  elevated  at 
both  ends  in  the  form  of  a  new  moon,  ele- 
gantly proportioned,  and  admirably  built 
for  speed;  the  figure  of  a  ram's  head,  sur- 
mounted by  a  golden  globe,  armed  the  point 
of  the  prow,  showing  that  the  vessel  be- 
longed to  some  personage  of  royal  blood. 


4  ONE  OF  CLEOPATRA  S   NIGHTS 

In  the  centre  of  the  vessel  arose  a  flat- 
roofed  cabin — a  sort  of  7iaos,  or  tent  of 
honor — colored  and  gilded,  ornamented  with 
palm-leaf  mouldings,  and  lighted  by  four 
little  square  windows. 

Two  chambers,  both  decorated  with  hiero- 
glyphic paintings,  occupied  the  horns  of  the 
crescent.  One  of  them,  the  larger,  had  a 
second  story  of  lesser  height  built  upon  it, 
like  the  chateaux  gaillards  of  those  fantastic 
galleys  of  the  sixteenth  century  drawn  by 
Delia-Bella;  the  other  and  smaller  chamber, 
which  also  served  as  a  pilot-house,  was  sur- 
mounted with  a  triangular  pediment. 

In  lieu  of  a  rudder,  two  immense  oars,  ad- 
justed upon  stakes  decorated  with  stripes  of 
paint,  which  served  in  place  of  our  modern 
row-locks,  extended  into  the  water  in  rear 
of  the  vessel  like  the  webbed  feet  of  a  swan  ; 
heads  crowned  with  pshents,  and  bearing 
the  allegorical  horn  upon  their  chins,  were 
sculptured  upon  the  handles  of  these  huge 
oars,  which  were  manoeuvred  by  the  pilot  as 
he  stood  upon  the  deck  of  the  cabin  above. 

He  was  a  swarthy  man,  tawny  as  new 
bronze,  with  bluish  surface  gleams  playing 


ONE   OF   CLEOPATRA'S  NIGHTS  5 

over  his  dark  skin;  long  oblique  eyes,  hair 
deeply  black  and  all  plaited  into  little  cords, 
full  lips,  high  cheek-bones,  ears  standing  out 
from  the  skull — the  Egyptian  type  in  all  its 
purity.  A  narrow  strip  of  cotton  about  his 
loins,  together  with  five  or  six  strings  of 
glass  beads  and  a  few  amulets,  comprised 
his  whole  costume. 

He  appeared  to  be  the  only  one  on  board 
the  cangia;  for  the  rowers  bending  over 
their  oars,  and  concealed  from  view  by  the 
gunwales,  made  their  presence  known  only 
through  the  symmetrical  movements  of  the 
oars  themselves,  which  spread  open  alter- 
nately on  either  side  of  the  vessel,  like  the 
ribs  of  a  fan,  and  fell  regularly  back  into  the 
water  after  a  short  pause. 

Not  a  breath  of  air  was  stirring  ;  and  the 
great  triangular  sail  of  the  cangia,  tied  up 
and  bound  to  the  lowered  mast  with  a  silken 
cord,  testified  that  all  hope  of  the  wind  ris- 
ing had  been  abandoned. 

The  noonday  sun  shot  his  arrows  perpen- 
dicularly from  above  ;  the  ashen-hued  slime 
of  the  river  banks  reflected  the  fiery  glow  ; 
a  raw  light,  glaring  and  blinding  in  its  in- 


6  ONE  OF  CLEOPATRA  S   NIGHTS 

tensity,  poured  down  in  torrents  of  flame; 
the  azure  of  the  sky  whitened  in  the  heat  as 
a  metal  whitens  in  the  furnace;  an  ardent 
and  lurid  fog  smoked  in  the  horizon.  Not 
a  cloud  appeared  in  the  sky — a  sky  mourn- 
ful and  changeless  as  Eternity. 

The  water  of  the  Nile,  sluggish  and  wan, 
seemed  to  slumber  in  its  course,  and  slowly 
extend  itself  in  sheets  of  molten  tin.  No 
breath  of  air  wrinkled  its  surface,  or  bowed 
down  upon  their  stalks  the  cups  of  the  lotus- 
flowers,  as  rigidly  motionless  as  though 
sculptured  ;  at  long  intervals  the  leap  of  a 
bechir  or  fabaka  expanding  its  belly  scarcely 
caused  a  silvery  gleam  upon  the  current; 
and  the  oars  of  the  cangia  seemed  with  diffi- 
culty to  tear  their  way  through  the  fuliginous 
film  of  that  curdled  water.  The  banks  were 
desolate,  a  solemn  and  mighty  sadness 
weighed  upon  this  land,  which  was  never 
aught  else  than  a  vast  tomb,  and  in  which 
the  living  appeared  to  be  solely  occupied  in 
the  work  of  burying  the  dead.  It  was  an 
arid  sadness,  dry  as  pumice  stone,  without 
melancholy,  without  reverie,  without  one 
pearly  gray  cloud  to  follow  toward  the  hori- 


ONE   OF   CLEOPATRA  S   NIGHTS  7 

zon,  one  secret  spring  wherein  to  lave  one's 
dusty  feet;  the  sadness  of  a  sphinx  weary 
of  eternally  gazing  upon  the  desert,  and  un- 
able to  detach  herself  from  the  granite  socle 
upon  which  she  has  sharpened  her  claws  for 
twenty  centuries. 

So  profound  was  the  silence  that  it  seemed 
as  though  the  world  had  become  dumb,  or 
that  the  air  had  lost  all  power  of  conveying 
sound.  The  only  noises  which  could  be 
heard  at  intervals  were  the  whisperings  and 
stifled  '*  chuckling  "  of  the  crocodiles,  which^ 
enfeebled  by  the  heat,  were  wallowing 
among  the  bullrushes  by  the  river  banks  ;  or 
the  sound  made  by  some  ibis,  which,  tired 
of  standing  with  one  leg  doubled  up  against 
its  stomach,  and  its  head  sunk  between  its 
shoulders,  suddenly  abandoned  its  motion- 
less attitude,  and,  brusquely  whipping  the 
blue  air  with  its  white  wings,  flew  off  to 
perch  upon  an  obelisk  or  a  palm-tree. 

The  cangia  flew  like  an  arrow  over  the 
smooth  river-water,  leaving  behind  it  a  sil- 
very wake  which  soon  disappeared  ;  and  only 
a  few  foam-bubbles  rising  to  break  at  the 
surface  of  the  stream  bore  testimony  to  the 


8  ONE   OF   CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS 

passage  of  the  vessel,  then  already  out  of 
sight. 

The  ochre-hued  or  salmon-colored  banks 
unrolled  themselves  rapidly,  like  scrolls  of 
papyrus,  between  the  double  azure  of  water 
and  sky  so  similar  in  tint  that  the  slender 
tongue  of  earth  which  separated  them 
seemed  like  a  causeway  stretching  over  an 
immense  lake,  and  that  it  would  have  been 
difïicult  to  determine  whether  the  Nile  re- 
flected the  sky,  or  whether  the  sky  reflected 
the  Nile. 

The  scene  continually  changed.  At  one 
moment  were  visible  gigantic  propylaea, 
whose  sloping  walls,  painted  with  large 
panels  of  fantastic  figures,  were  mirrored  in 
the  river;  pylons  with  broad-bulging  capi- 
tals; stairways  guarded  by  huge  crouching 
sphinxes,  wearing  caps  with  lappets  of  many 
folds,  and  crossing  their  paws  of  black  basalt 
below  their  sharply  projecting  breasts;  pal- 
aces, immeasurably  vast,  projecting  against 
the  horizon  the  severe  horizontal  lines  of 
their  entablatures,  where  the  emblematic 
globe  unfolded  its  mysterious  wings  like  an 
eagle's  vast-extending  pinions  ;  temples  with 


ONE  OF  CLEOPATRA  S   NIGHTS  9 

enormous  columns  thick  as  towers,  on  which 
were  limned  processions  of  hieroglyphic  fig- 
ures against  a  background  of  brilliant  white 
— all  the  monstrosities  of  that  Titanic  archi- 
tecture. Again  the  eye  beheld  only  land- 
scapes of  desolate  aridity — hills  formed  of 
stony  fragments  from  excavations  and  build- 
ing works,  crumbs  of  that  gigantic  debauch 
of  granite  which  lasted  for  more  than  thirty 
centuries;  mountains  exfoliated  by  heat,  and 
mangled  and  striped  with  black  lines  which 
seemed  like  the  cauterizations  of  a  conflagra- 
tion ;  hillocks  humped  and  deformed,  squat- 
ting like  the  criocephalus  of  the  tombs,  and 
projecting  the  outlines  of  their  misshapen 
attitude  against  the  sky-line;  expanses  of 
greenish  clay,  reddle,  flour- white  tufa;  and 
from  time  to  time  some  steep  cliff  of  dry, 
rose-colored  granite,  where  yawned  the  black 
mouths  of  the  stone  quarries. 

This  aridity  was  wholly  unrelieved;  no 
oasis  of  foliage  refreshed  the  eye;  green 
seemed  to  be  a  color  unknown  to  that  na- 
ture; only  some  meagre  palm-tree,  like  a 
vegetable  crab,  appeared  from  time  to  time 
in  the  horizon;  or  a  thorny  fig-tree  bran- 


lO  ONE   OF  CLEOPATRA  S   NIGHTS 

dished  its  tempered  leaves  like  sword  blades 
of  bronze;  or  a  carthamus-plant,  which  had 
found  a  little  moisture  to  live  upon  in  the 
shadow  of  some  fragment  of  a  broken  col- 
umn, relieved  the  general  uniformity  with  a 
speck  of  crimson. 

After  this  rapid  glance  at  the  aspect  of  the 
landscape,  let  us  return  to  the  cangia  with 
its  fifty  rowers,  and,  without  announcing 
ourselves,  enter  boldly  into  the  naos  of 
honor. 

The  interior  was  painted  white  with  green 
arabesques,  bands  of  vermilion,  and  gilt 
flowers  fantastically  shaped  ;  an  exceedingly 
fine  rush  matting  covered  the  floor;  at  the 
further  end  stood  a  little  bed,  supported 
upon  griffin's  feet,  having  a  back  resem- 
bling that  of  a  modern  lounge  or  sofa;  a 
stool  with  four  steps  to  enable  one  to  climb 
into  bed  ;  and  (rather  an  odd  luxury  accord- 
ing to  our  ideas  of  comfort)  a  sort  of  hémi- 
cycle of  cedar  wood,  supported  upon  a  single 
leg,  and  designed  to  fit  the  nape  of  the  neck 
so  as  to  support  the  head  of  the  person  re- 
clining. 

Upon  this  strange  pillow  reposed  a  most 


ONE  OF  CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS  II 

charming  head,  one  look  of  which  once 
caused  the  loss  of  half  a  world  ;  an  adorable, 
a  divine  head  ;  the  head  of  the  most  perfect 
woman  that  ever  lived  ;  the  most  womanly 
and  most  queenly  of  all  women  ;  an  admir- 
able type  of  beauty  which  the  imagination 
of  poets  could  never  invest  with  any  new 
grace,  and  which  dreamers  will  find  forever 
in  the  depths  of  their  dreams — it  is  not  nec- 
essary to  name  Cleopatra. 

Beside  her  stood  her  favorite  slave  Char- 
mion,  waving  a  large  fan  of  ibis  feathers; 
and  a  young  girl  was  moistening  with  scented 
water  the  little  reed  blinds  attached  to 
the  windows  of  the  naos,  so  that  the  air 
might  only  enter  impregnated  with  fresh 
odors. 

Near  the  bed  of  repose,  in  a  striped  vase 
of  alabaster  with  a  slender  neck  and  a  pecul- 
iarly elegant,  tapering  shape,  vaguely  re- 
calling the  form  of  a  heron,  was  placed  a 
bouquet  of  lotus-flowers,  some  of  a  celestial 
blue,  others  of  a  tender  rose-color,  like  the 
finger-tips  of  Isis  the  great  goddess. 

Either  from  caprice  or  policy,  Cleopatra 
did  not  wear  the  Greek  dress  that  day.     She 


12  ONE   OF  CLEOPATRA  S   NIGHTS 

had  just  attended  a  panegyris,*  and  was  re- 
turning to  her  summer  palace  still  clad  in 
the  Egyptian  costume  she  had  worn  at  the 
festival. 

Perhaps  our  fair  readers  will  feel  curious 
to  know  how  Queen  Cleopatra  was  attired 
on  her  return  from  the  Mammisi  of  Her- 
monthis  whereat  were  worshipped  the  holy 
triad  of  the  god  Mandou,  the  goddess  Ritho, 
and  their  son,  Harphra;  luckily  Ave  are  able 
to  satisfy  them  in  this  regard. 

For  headdress  Queen  Cleopatra  wore  a 
kind  of  very  light  helmet  of  beaten  gold, 
fashioned  in  the  form  of  the  body  and  wings 
of  the  sacred  partridge.  The  wings,  opening 
downward  like  fans,  covered  the  temples, 
and  extending  below,  almost  to  the  neck, 
left  exposed  on  either  side,  through  a  small 
aperture,  an  ear  rosier  and  more  delicately 
curled  than  the  shell  whence  arose  that 
Venus  whom  the  Egyptians  named  Athor  ; 

*  Panegyris  ;  pi. ,  panegyreis^ — from  the  Greek  iravi^yvpis, 
— signifies  the  meeting  of  a  whole  people  to  worship  at  a 
common  sanctuary  or  participate  in  a  national  religious 
festival.  The  assemblies  at  the  Olympic,  Pythian,  Nemean, 
or  Isthmian  games  were  in  this  sense  panegyreis.  See 
Smith's  Diet.  An tiq.— [Trans.] 


ONE  OF   CLEOPATRA  S   NIGHTS  1 3 

the  tail  of  the  bird  occupied  that  place 
where  our  women  wear  their  chignons;  its 
body,  covered  with  imbricated  feathers,  and 
painted  in  variegated  enamel,  concealed  the 
upper  part  of  the  head  ;  and  its  neck,  grace- 
fully curving  forward  over  the  forehead  of 
the  wearer,  formed  together  with  its  little 
head  a  kind  of  horn-shaped  ornament,  all 
sparkling  with  precious  stones  ;  a  symbolic 
crest,  designed  like  a  tower,  completed  this 
odd  but  elegant  headdress.  Hair  dark  as  a 
starless  night  flowed  from  beneath  this  hel- 
met, and  streamed  in  long  tresses  over  the 
fair  shoulders  whereof  the  commencement 
only,  alas  !  was  left  exposed  by  a  collarette, 
or  gorget,  adorned  with  many  rows  of  ser- 
pentine stones,  azodrachs,  and  chrysoberyls  ; 
a  linen  robe  diagonally  cut — a  mist  of  mate- 
rial, of  woven  air,  ventus  textilis  as  Petro- 
nius  says,  undulated  in  vapory  whiteness 
about  a  lovely  body  whose  outlines  it 
scarcely  shaded  with  the  softest  shading. 
This  robe  had  half-sleeves,  tight  at  the 
shoulder,  but  widening  toward  the  elbows 
like  our  maiîckes-à-sabot,  and  permitting  a 
glimpse  of  an  adorable  arm  and  a  perfect 


14  ONE  OF   CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS 

hand,  the  arm  being  clasped  by  six  golden 
bracelets,  and  the  hand  adorned  with  a  ring 
representing  the  sacred  scarabseus.  A  girdle, 
whose  knotted  ends  hung  down  in  front, 
confined  this  free-floating  tunic  at  the  waist  ; 
a  short  cloak  adorned  with  fringing  com- 
pleted the  costume  ;  and,  if  a  few  barbarous 
words  will  not  frighten  Parisian  ears,  we 
might  add  that  the  robe  was  called  schenti, 
and  the  short  cloak,  calishis. 

Finally,  we  may  observe  that  Queen  Cleo- 
patra wore  very  thin,  light  sandals,  turned 
up  at  the  toes,  and  fastened  over  the  instep, 
like  the  soulier s-a-la-poiilaine  of  the  mediae- 
val c  hate  lames. 

But  Queen  Cleopatra  did  not  wear  that 
air  of  satisfaction  which  becomes  a  woman 
conscious  of  being  perfectly  beautiful  and 
perfectly  well  dressed.  She  tossed  and  turned 
in  her  little  bed,  and  her  sudden  movements 
momentarily  disarranged  the  folds  of  her 
gauzy  conopeum,  which  Charmion  as  often 
rearranged  with  inexhaustible  patience,  and 
without  ceasing  to  wave  her  fan. 

"  This  room  is  stifling,"  said  Cleopatra; 
*'  even  if  Pthah  the  God  of  Fire  established 


ONE   OF  CLEOPATRA  S   NIGHTS  1 5 

his  forges  in  here,  he  could  not  make  it  hot- 
ter; the  air  is  Hke  the  breath  of  a  furnace  !  " 
And  she  moistened  her  h*ps  with  the  tip  of 
her  little  tongue,  and  stretched  out  her  hand 
like  a  feverish  patient  seeking  an  absent 
cup. 

Charmion,  ever  attentive,  at  once  clapped 
her  hands.  A  black  slave  clothed  in  a  short 
tunic  hanging  in  folds  like  an  Albanian  petti- 
coat, and  a  panther-skin  thrown  over  his 
shoulders,  entered  with  the  suddenness  of 
an  apparition  ;  with  his  left  hand  balancing 
a  tray  laden  with  cups,  and  slices  of  water- 
melon, and  carrying  in  his  right  a  long  vase 
with  a  spout  like  a  modern  teapot. 

The  slave  filled  one  of  these  cups,  pour- 
ing the  liquor  into  it  from  a  considerable 
height  with  marvellous  dexterity,  and 
placed  it  before  the  queen.  Cleopatra 
merely  touched  the  beverage  with  her  lips, 
laid  the  cup  down  beside  her,  and  turning 
upon  Charmion  her  beautiful  liquid  black 
eyes,  lustrous  with  living  light,  exclaimed  : 

**  O  Charmion,  I  am  weary  unto  death!  " 


l6  ONE   OF   CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS 


CHAPTER    II 

Charmion,  at  once  anticipating  a  confi- 
dence, assumed  a  look  of  pained  sympathy, 
and  drew  nearer  to  her  mistress. 

**  I  am  horribly  weary!  "  continued  Cleo- 
patra, letting  her  arms  fall  like  one  utterly 
discouraged.  **  This  Egypt  crushes,  annihi- 
lates me;  this  sky  with  its  implacable  azure 
is  sadder  than  the  deep  night  of  Erebus; 
never  a  cloud,  never  a  shadow,  and  always 
that  red,  sanguine  sun,  which  glares  down 
upon  you  like  the  eye  of  a  Cyclops.  Ah, 
Charmion,  I  would  give  a  pearl  for  one  drop 
of  rain  !  From  the  inflamed  pupil  of  that 
sky  of  bronze  no  tear  has  ever  yet  fallen 
upon  the  desolation  of  this  land  ;  it  is  only  a 
vast  covering  for  a  tomb — the  dome  of  a 
necropolis  ;  a  sky  dead  and  dried  up  like  the 
mummies  it  hangs  over;  it  weighs  upon  my 
shoulders  like  an  over-heavy  mantle  ;  it  con- 
strains and  terrifies  me;  it  seems  to  me  that 
I  could  not  stand  up  erect  without  striking 
my  forehead  against  it.  And,  moreover, 
this  land  is  truly  an  awful  land  ;  all  things 


ONE  OF  CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS  1 7 

in  it  are  gloomy,  enigmatic,  incomprehensi- 
ble. Imagination  has  produced  in  it  only 
monstrous  chimeras  and  monuments  im- 
measurable; this  architecture  and  this  art 
fill  me  with  fear;  those  colossi,  whose  stone- 
entangled  limbs  compel  them  to  remain  eter- 
nally sitting  with  their  hands  upon  their 
knees,  weary  me  with  their  stupid  immobil- 
ity; they  trouble  my  eyes  and  my  horizon. 
When,  indeed,  shall  the  giant  come  who  is 
to  take  them  by  the  hand  and  relieve  them 
from  their  long  watch  of  twenty  centuries  ? 
For  even  granite  itself  must  grow  weary  at 
last  !  Of  what  master,  then,  do  they  await 
the  coming,  to  leave  their  mountain-seats 
and  rise  in  token  of  respect  ?  Of  what  invisi- 
ble flock  are  those  huge  sphinxes  the  guard- 
ians, crouching  like  dogs  on  the  watch,  that 
they  never  close  their  eyelids,  and  forever 
extend  their  claws  in  readiness  to  seize  ? 
Why  are  their  stony  eyes  so  obstinately  fixed 
upon  eternity  and  infinity  ?  What  weird 
secret  do  their  firmly  locked  lips  retain 
within  their  breasts  ?  On  the  right  hand, 
on  the  left,  whithersoever  one  turns,  only 
frightful  monsters  are  visible — dogs  with  the 

2 


l8  ONE   OF   CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS 

heads  of  men;  men  with  the  heads  of  dogs; 
chimeras  begotten  of  hideous  couplings  in 
the  shadowy  depths  of  the  labyrinths  ;  fig- 
ures of  Anubis,  Typhon,  Osiris;  partridges 
with  great  yellow  eyes  that  seem  to  pierce 
through  you  with  their  inquisitorial  gaze, 
and  see  beyond  and  behind  you  things  which 
one  dare  not  speak  of — a  family  of  animals 
and  horrible  gods  with  scaly  wings,  hooked 
beaks,  trenchant  claws,  ever  ready  to  seize 
and  devour  you  should  you  venture  to  cross 
the  threshold  of  the  temple,  or  lift  a  corner 
of  the  veil. 

"  Upon  the  walls,  upon  the  columns,  on 
the  ceilings,  on  the  floors,  upon  palaces  and 
temples,  in  the  long  passages  and  the  deep- 
est pits  of  the  necropoli,  even  within  the 
bowels  of  the  earth  where  light  never  comes, 
and  where  the  flames  of  the  torches  die  for 
want  of  air,  forever  and  everywhere  are 
sculptured  and  painted  interminable  hiero- 
glyphics, telling  in  language  unintelligible 
of  things  which  are  no  longer  known,  and 
which  belong,  doubtless,  to  the  vanished 
creations  of  the  past — prodigious  buried 
works  wherein  a  whole  nation  was  sacrificed 


ONE  OF  CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS  1 9 

to  write  the  epitaph  of  one  king  !  Mystery 
and  granite — this  is  Egypt  !  Truly  a  fair  land 
for  a  young  woman,  and  a  young  queen. 

"  Menacing  and  funereal  symbols  alone 
meet  the  eye — the  emblems  of  the  pedum ^ 
the  tau,  allegorical  globes,  coiling  serpents, 
and  the  scales  in  which  souls  are  weighed — 
the  Unknown,  death,  nothingness.  In  the 
place  of  any  vegetation  only  stelœ  limned 
with  weird  characters;  instead  of  avenues 
of  trees,  avenues  of  granite  obelisks  ;  in  lieu 
of  soil,  vast  pavements  of  granite  for  which 
whole  mountains  could  each  furnish  but  one 
slab  ;  in  place  of  a  sky,  ceilings  of  granite — 
eternity  made  palpable,  a  bitter  and  ever- 
lasting sarcasm  upon  the  frailty  and  brevity 
of  life — stairways  built  only  for  the  limbs 
of  Titans,  which  the  human  foot  cannot 
ascend  save  by  the  aid  of  ladders  ;  columns 
that  a  hundred  arms  cannot  encircle;  laby- 
rinths in  which  one  might  travel  for  years 
without  discovering  the  termination — the 
vertigo  of  enormity,  the  drunkenness  of  the 
gigantic,  the  reckless  efforts  of  that  pride 
which  would  at  any  cost  engrave  its  name 
deeply  upon  the  face  of  the  world. 


20  ONE   OF  CLEOPATRA  S   NIGHTS 

"  And,  moreover,  Charmion,  I  tell  you  a 
thought  haunts  me  which  terrifies  me.  In 
other  lands  of  the  earth,  corpses  are  burned, 
and  their  ashes  soon  mingle  with  the  soil. 
Here,  it  is  said  that  the  living  have  no  other 
occupation  than  that  of  preserving  the  dead. 
Potent  balms  save  them  from  destruction; 
the  remains  endure  after  the  soul  has  evapo- 
rated. Beneath  this  people  lie  twenty  peo- 
ples; each  city  stands  upon  twenty  layers 
of  necropoli  ;  each  generation  which  passes 
away  leaves  a  population  of  mummies  to  a 
shadowy  city.  Beneath  the  father  you  find 
the  grandfather  and  the  great-grandfather 
in  their  gilded  and  painted  boxes,  even  as 
they  were  during  life;  and  should  you  dig 
down  forever,  forever  you  would  still  find 
the  underlying  dead. 

"  When  I  think  upon  those  bandage- 
swathed  myriads — those  multitudes  of 
parched  spectres  who  fill  the  sepulchral  pits, 
and  who  have  been  there  for  two  thousand 
years  face  to  face  in  their  own  silence,  which 
nothing  ever  breaks,  not  even  the  noise 
which  the  graveworms  make  in  crawling, 
and  who  will  be  found  intact  after  yet  an- 


ONE  OF   CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS  21 

other  two  thousand  years,  with  their  croco- 
diles, their  cats,  their  ibises,  and  all  things 
that  lived  in  their  lifetime — then  terrors  seize 
me,  and  I  feel  my  flesh  creep.  What  do 
they  mutter  to  each  other  ?  For  they  still 
have  lips,  and  every  ghost  would  find  its 
body  in  the  same  state  as  when  it  quitted  it, 
if  they  should  all  take  the  fancy  to  return. 

"  Ah,  truly  is  Egypt  a  sinister  kingdom 
and  little  suited  to  me,  the  laughter-loving 
and  merry  one.  Everything  in  it  encloses  a 
mummy;  that  is  the  heart  and  the  kernel  of 
all  things.  After  a  thousand  turns  you 
must  always  end  there;  the  Pyramids  them- 
selves hide  sarcophagi.  What  nothingness 
and  madness  is  this  !  Disembowel  the  sky 
with  gigantic  triangles  of  stone — you  cannot 
thereby  lengthen  your  corpse  an  inch.  How 
can  one  rejoice  and  live  in  a  land  like  this, 
where  the  only  perfume  you  can  respire  is 
the  acrid  odor  of  the  naphtha  and  bitumen 
which  boil  in  the  caldrons  of  the  embalmers, 
where  the  very  flooring  of  your  chamber 
sounds  hollow  because  the  corridors  of  the 
hypogea  and  the  mortuary  pits  extend  even 
under  your   alcove?     To   be  the  queen  of 


22  ONE  OF   CLEOPATRA  S   NIGHTS 

mummies,  to  have  none  to  converse  with 
but  statues  in  constrained  and  rigid  atti- 
tudes— this  is,  in  truth,  a  cheerful  lot. 
Again,  if  I  only  had  some  heartfelt  passion 
to  relieve  this  melancholy,  some  interest  in 
life;  if  I  could  but  love  somebody  or  some- 
thing; if  I  were  even  loved;  but  I  am  not. 

"  This  is  why  I  am  weary,  Charmion. 
With  love,  this  grim  and  arid  Egypt  would 
seem  to  me  fairer  than  even  Greece  with  her 
ivory  gods,  her  temples  of  snowy  marble, 
her  groves  of  laurel,  and  fountains  of  living 
water.  There  I  should  never  dream  of  the 
weird  face  of  Anubis  and  the  ghastly  ter- 
rors of  the  cities  underground." 

Charmion  smiled  incredulously.  "  That 
ought  not,  surely,  to  be  a  source  of  much 
grief  to  you,  O  queen;  for  every  glance  of 
your  eyes  transpierces  hearts,  like  the  golden 
arrows  of  Eros  himself." 

"  Can  a  queen,"  answered  Cleopatra, 
**  ever  know  whether  it  is  her  face  or  her 
diadem  that  is  loved  ?  The  rays  of  her 
starry  crown  dazzle  the  eyes  and  the  heart. 
Were  I  to  descend  from  the  height  of  my 
throne,  would  I  even  have  the  celebrity  or  ^ 


ONE  OF   CLEOPATRA  S   NIGHTS  23 

the  popularity  of  Bacchis  or  Archianassa, 
of  the  first  courtesan  from  Athens  or  Mile- 
tus ?  A  queen  is  something  so  far  removed 
from  men,  so  elevated,  so  widely  separated 
from  them,  so  impossible  for  them  to  reach! 
What  presumption  dare  flatter  itself  in  such 
an  enterprise  ?  It  is  not  simply  a  woman, 
it  is  an  august  and  sacred  being  that  has  no 
sex,  and  that  is  worshipped  kneeling  with- 
out being  loved.  Who  was  ever  really 
enamoured  of  Hera  the  snowy-armed  or 
Pallas  of  the  sea-green  eyes  ?  Who  ever 
sought  to  kiss  the  silver  feet  of  Thetis  or 
the  rosy  fingers  of  Aurora  ?  What  lover  of 
the  divine  beauties  ever  took  unto  himself 
wings  that  he  might  soar  to  the  golden  pal- 
aces of  heaven  ?  Respect  and  fear  chill 
hearts  in  our  presence,  and  in  order  to  ob- 
tain the  love  of  our  equals,  one  must  de- 
scend into  those  necropoli  of  which  I  have 
just  been  speaking." 

Although  she  offered  no  further  objection 
to  the  arguments  of  her  mistress,  a  vague 
smile  which  played  about  the  lips  of  the  hand- 
some Greek  slave  showed  that  she  had  little 
faith  in  the  inviolability  of  the  royal  person. 


24  ONE   OF   CLEOPATRA  S    NIGHTS 

"  Ah,"  continued  Cleopatra,  "  I  wish  that 
something  would  happen  to  me,  some 
strange,  unexpected  adventure.  The  songs 
of  the  poets  ;  the  dances  of  the  Syrian  slaves  ; 
the  banquets,  rose  garlanded,  and  prolonged 
into  the  dawn;  the  nocturnal  races;  the  La- 
conian  dogs;  the  tame  lions;  the  hump- 
backed dwarfs;  the  brotherhood  of  the  In- 
imitables; the  combats  of  the  arena;  the 
new  dresses  ;  the  byssus  robes  ;  the  clusters 
of  pearls  ;  the  perfumes  from  Asia  ;  the  most 
exquisite  of  luxuries;  the  wildest  of  splen- 
dors— nothing  any  longer  gives  me  pleasure. 
Everything  has  become  indifferent  to  me, 
everything  is  insupportable  to  me." 

"  It  is  easily  to  be  seen,"  muttered  Char- 
mion  to  herself,  "  that  the  queen  has  not 
had  a  lover  nor  had  anyone  killed  for  a 
whole  month." 

Fatigued  with  so  lengthy  a  tirade,  Cleo- 
patra once  more  took  the  cup  placed  beside 
her,  moistened  her  lips  with  it,  and  putting 
her  head  beneath  her  arm,  like  a  dove  put- 
ting its  head  under  its  wing,  composed  her- 
self for  slumber  as  best  she  could.  Charmion 
unfastened  her  sandals  and  commenced  to 


ONE  OF   CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS  2$ 

gently  tickle  the  soles  of  her  feet  with  a  pea- 
cock's feather,  and  Sleep  soon  sprinkled  his 
golden  dust  upon  the  beautiful  eyes  of  Ptol- 
emy's sister. 

While  Cleopatra  sleeps,  let  us  ascend  upon 
deck  and  enjoy  the  glorious  sunset  view. 
A  broad  band  of  violet  color,  warmed  deeply 
with  ruddy  tints  toward  the  west,  occupies 
all  the  lower  portion  of  the  sky  ;  encounter- 
ing the  zone  of  azure  above,  the  violet  shade 
melts  into  a  clear  lilac,  and  fades  off  through 
half-rosy  tints  into  the  blue  beyond;  afar, 
where  the  sun,  red  as  a  buckler  fallen  from 
the  furnace  of  Vulcan,  casts  his  burning  re- 
flection, the  deeper  shades  turn  to  pale  cit- 
ron hues,  and  glow  with  turquoise  tints. 
The  water,  rippling  under  an  oblique  beam 
of  light,  shines  with  the  dull  gleam  of  the 
quicksilvered  side  of  a  mirror,  or  like  a 
damascened  blade.  The  sinuosities  of  the 
bank,  the  reeds,  and  all  objects  along  the 
shore  are  brought  out  in  sharp  black  relief 
against  the  bright  glow.  By  the  aid  of  this 
crepuscular  light  you  may  perceive  afar  off, 
like  a  grain  of  dust  floating  upon  quicksilver, 
a  little  brown  speck  trembhng  in  the  net- 


26  ONE  OF   CLEOPATRA'S    NIGHTS 

work  of  luminous  ripples.  Is  it  a  teal  div- 
ing, a  tortoise  lazily  drifting  with  the  cur- 
rent, a  crocodile  raising  the  tip  of  his  scaly 
snout  above  the  water  to  breathe  the  cooler 
air  of  evening,  the  belly  of  a  hippopotamus 
gleaming  amidstream,  or  perhaps  a  rock  left 
bare  by  the  falling  of  the  river  ?  For  the 
ancient  Opi-Mou,  Father  of  Waters,  sadly 
needs  to  replenish  his  dry  urn  from  the  sol- 
stitial rains  of  the  Mountains  of  the  Moon. 

It  is  none  of  these.  By  the  atoms  of 
Osiris  so  deftly  resewn  together,  it  is  a  man, 
who  seems  to  walk,  to  skate,  upon  the  water! 
Now  the  frail  bark  which  sustains  him  be- 
comes visible,  a  very  nutshell  of  a  boat,  a 
hollow  fish;  three  strips  of  bark  fitted  to- 
gether (one  for  the  bottom  and  two  for  the 
sides),  and  strongly  fastened  at  either  end 
by  cord  well  smeared  with  bitumen.  The 
man  stands  erect,  with  one  foot  on  either 
side  of  this  fragile  vessel,  which  he  impels 
with  a  single  oar  that  also  serves  the  pur- 
pose of  a  rudder;  and  although  the  royal 
cangia  moves  rapidly  under  the  efforts  of 
the  fifty  rowers,  the  little  black  bark  visibly 
gains  upon  it. 


ONE  OF   CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS  VJ 

Cleopatra  desired  some  strange  adventure, 
something  wholly  unexpected.  This  little 
bark  which  moves  so  mysteriously  seems 
to  us  to  be  conveying  an  adventure,  or,  at 
least,  an  adventurer.  Perhaps  it  contains 
the  hero  of  our  story;  the  thing  is  not  im- 
possible. 

At  any  rate  he  was  a  handsome  youth  of 
twenty,  with  hair  so  black  that  it  seemed  to 
own  a  tinge  of  blue,  a  skin  blonde  as  gold, 
and  a  form  so  perfectly  proportioned  that 
he  might  have  been  taken  for  a  bronze  statue 
by  Lysippus.  Although  he  had  been  row- 
ing for  a  very  long  time  he  betrayed  no  sign 
of  fatigue,  and  not  a  single  drop  of  sweat 
bedewed  his  forehead. 

The  sun  half  sank  below  the  horizon,  and 
against  his  broken  disk  figured  the  dark  sil- 
houette of  a  far  distant  city,  which  the  eye 
could  not  have  distinguished  but  for  this  ac- 
cidental effect  of  light.  His  radiance  soon 
faded  altogether  away,  and  the  stars,  fair 
night-flowers  of  heaven,  opened  their  chal- 
ices of  gold  in  the  azure  of  the  firmament. 
The  royal  cangia,  closely  followed  by  the 
little  bark,   stopped   before  a  huge  marble 


28  ONE   OF  CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS 

stairway,  whereof  each  step  supported  one 
of  those  sphinxes  that  Cleopatra  so  much 
detested.  This  was  the  landing-place  of  the 
summer  palace. 

Cleopatra,  leaning  upon  Charmion,  passed 
swiftly,  like  a  gleaming  vision,  between  a 
double  line  of  lantern-bearing  slaves. 

The  youth  took  from  the  bottom  of  his 
little  boat  a  great  lion-skin,  threw  it  across 
his  shoulders,  drew  the  tiny  shell  upon  the 
beach,  and  wended  his  way  toward  the 
palace. 

CHAPTER   III 

Who  is  this  young  man,  balancing  him- 
self upon  a  fragment  of  bark,  who  dares 
follow  the  royal  cangia,  and  is  able  to  con- 
tend in  a  race  of  speed  against  fifty  strong 
rowers  from  the  land  of  Kush,  all  naked  to 
to  the  waist,  and  anointed  with  palm-oil  ? 
What  secret  motive  urges  him  to  this  swift 
pursuit  ?  That,  indeed,  is  one  of  the  many 
things  we  are  obliged  to  know  in  our  char- 
acter of  the  intuition-gifted  poet,  for  whose 
benefit  all  men,  and  even  all  women  (a  much 


ONE  OF  CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS  29 

more  difficult  matter),  must  have  in  their 
breasts  that  little  window  which  Momus  of 
old  demanded. 

It  is  not  a  very  easy  thing  to  find  out  pre- 
cisely what  a  young  man  from  the  land  of 
Kemi,  who  followed  the  barge  of  Cleopatra, 
queen  and  goddess  Evergetes,  on  her  return 
from  the  Mammisi  of  Hermonthis  two  thou- 
sand years  ago,  was  then  thinking  of.  But 
we  shall  make  the  effort  notwithstanding. 

Me'iamoun,  son  of  Mandouschopsh,  was 
a  youth  of  strange  character;  nothing  by 
which  ordinary  minds  are  affected  made  any 
impression  upon  him.  He  seemed  to  belong 
to  some  loftier  race,  and  might  well  have 
been  regarded  as  the  offspring  of  some 
divine  adultery.  His  glance  had  the  steady 
brilliancy  of  a  falcon's  gaze,  and  a  serene 
majesty  sat  on  his  brow  as  upon  a  pedestal 
of  marble  ;  a  noble  pride  curled  his  upper 
lip,  and  expanded  his  nostrils  like  those  of 
a  fiery  horse.  Although  owning  a  grace  of 
form  almost  maidenly  in  its  delicacy,  and 
though  the  bosom  of  the  fair  and  effeminate 
god  Dionysos  was  not  more  softly  rounded 
or  smoother  than  his,  yet  beneath  this  soft 


30  ONE   OF   CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS 

exterior  were  hidden  sinews  of  steel  and  the 
strength  of  Hercules — a  strange  privilege  of 
certain  antique  natures  to  unite  in  them- 
selves the  beauty  of  woman  with  the  strength 
of  man. 

As  for  his  complexion,  we  must  acknowl- 
edge that  it  was  of  a  tawny  orange  color,  a 
hue  little  in  accordance  with  our  white-and- 
rose  ideas  of  beauty  ;  but  which  did  not  pre- 
vent him  from  being  a  very  charming  young 
man,  much  sought  after  by  all  kinds  of 
women — yellow,  red,  copper-colored,  sooty- 
black,  or  golden  skinned,  and  even  by  one 
fair,  white  Greek. 

Do  not  suppose  from  this  that  Mei'amoun's 
lot  was  altogether  enviable.  The  ashes  of 
aged  Priam,  the  very  snows  of  Hippolytus, 
were  not  more  insensible  or  more  frigid;  the 
young  white-robed  neophyte  preparing  for 
the  initiation  into  the  mysteries  of  Isis  led 
no  chaster  life  ;  the  young  maiden  benumbed 
by  the  icy  shadow  of  her  mother  was  not 
more  shyly  pure. 

Nevertheless,  for  so  coy  a  youth,  the 
pleasures  of  Meïamoun  were  certainly  of  a 
singular  nature.      He  would  go  forth  quietly 


ONE   OF   CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS  3 1 

some  morning  with  his  little  buckler  of  hip- 
popotamus hide,  his  harpe  or  curved  sword, 
a  triangular  bow,  and  a  snake-skin  quiver 
filled  with  barbed  arrows;  then  he  would 
ride  at  a  gallop  far  into  the  desert,  upon  his 
slender-limbed,  small-headed,  wild-maned 
mare,  until  he  could  find  some  lion-tracks. 
He  especially  delighted  in  taking  the  little 
lion-cubs  from  underneath  the  belly  of  their 
mother.  In  all  things  he  loved  the  perilous 
or  the  unachievable.  He  preferred  to  walk 
where  it  seemed  impossible  for  any  human 
being  to  obtain  a  foothold,  or  to  swim  in  a 
raging  torrent,  and  he  had  accordingly  chosen 
the  neighborhood  of  the  cataracts  for  his 
bathing  place  in  the  Nile.  The  Abyss  called 
him  ! 

Such  was  Meïamoun,  son  of  Mandou- 
schopsh. 

For  some  time  his  humors  had  been  grow- 
ing more  savage  than  ever.  During  whole 
months  he  buried  himself  in  the  Ocean  of 
Sands,  returning  only  at  long  intervals. 
Vainly  would  his  uneasy  mother  lean  from 
her  terrace  and  gaze  anxiously  down  the 
long  road  with  tireless  eyes.     At  last,  after 


32  ONE   OF   CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS 

weary  waiting,  a  little  whirling  cloud  of  dust 
would  become  visible  in  the  horizon,  and 
finally  the  cloud  would  open  to  allow  a  full 
view  of  Meiamoun,  all  covered  with  dust, 
riding  upon  a  mare  gaunt  as  a  wolf,  with  red 
and  bloodshot  eyes,  nostrils  trembling,  and 
huge  scars  along  her  flanks — scars  which  cer- 
tainly were  not  made  by  spurs. 

After  having  hung  up  in  his  room  some 
hyena  or  lion  skin,  he  would  start  off  again. 

And  yet  no  one  might  have  been  hap- 
pier than  Meiamoun.  He  was  beloved  by 
Nephthe,  daughter  of  the  priest  Afomou- 
this,  and  the  loveliest  woman  of  the  Nome 
Arsinoïtes.  Only  such  a  being  as  Meïamoun 
could  have  failed  to  see  that  Nephthe  had 
the  most  charmingly  oblique  and  indescrib- 
ably voluptuous  eyes,  a  mouth  sweetly  il- 
luminated by  ruddy  smiles,  little  teeth  of 
wondrous  whiteness  and  transparency,  arms 
exquisitely  round,  and  feet  more  perfect 
than  the  jasper  feet  of  the  statue  of  Isis. 
Assuredly  there  was  not  a  smaller  hand  nor 
longer  hair  than  hers  in  all  Egypt.  The 
charms  of  Nephthe  could  have  been  eclipsed 
only  by  those  of  Cleopatra.     But  who  could 


ONE  OF  CLEOPATRA  S   NIGHTS  2$ 

dare  to  dream  of  loving  Cleopatra  ?  Ixion, 
enamoured  of  Juno,  strained  only  a  cloud  to 
his  bosom,  and  must  forever  roll  the  wheel 
of  his  punishment  in  hell. 

It  was  Cleopatra  whom   Meïamoun  loved. 

He  had  at  first  striven  to  tame  this  wild 
passion  ;  he  had  wrestled  fiercely  with  it  ;  but 
love  cannot  be  strangled  even  as  a  lion  is 
strangled,  and  the  strong  skill  of  the  mighti- 
est athlete  avails  nothing  in  such  a  contest. 
The  arrow  had  remained  in  the  wound,  and 
he  carried  it  with  him  everywhere.  The 
radiant  and  splendid  image  of  Cleopatra,  with 
her  golden-pointed  diadem  and  her  imperial 
purple,  standing  above  a  nation  on  their 
knees,  illumined  his  nightly  dreams  and  his 
waking  thoughts.  Like  some  imprudent 
man  who  has  dared  to  look  at  the  sun  and 
forever  thereafter  beholds  an  impalpable 
blot  floating  before  his  eyes,  so  Meïamoun 
ever  beheld  Cleopatra.  Eagles  may  gaze 
undazzled  at  the  sun,  but  what  diamond  eye 
can  with  impunity  fix  itself  upon  a  beautiful 
woman,  a  beautiful  queen  ? 

He  commenced  at  last  to  spend  his  life  in 
wandering  about  the  neighborhood  of  the 
3 


34  ONE  OF  Cleopatra's  nights 

royal  dwelling,  that  he  might  at  least  breathe 
the  same  air  as  Cleopatra,  that  he  might 
sometimes  kiss  the  almost  imperceptible 
print  of  her  foot  upon  the  sand  (a  happi- 
ness, alas!  rare  indeed).  He  attended  the 
sacred  festivals  and  pa7iegyreis,  striving  to 
obtain  one  beaming  glance  of  her  eyes,  to 
catch  in  passing  one  stealthy  glimpse  of  her 
loveliness  in  some  of  its  thousand  varied 
aspects.  At  other  moments,  filled  with  sud- 
den shame  of  this  mad  life,  he  gave  him- 
self up  to  the  chase  with  redoubled  ardor, 
and  sought  by  fatigue  to  tame  the  ardor 
of  his  blood  and  the  impetuosity  of  his 
desires. 

He  had  gone  to  the  panegyris  of  Her- 
monthis,  and,  in  the  vague  hope  of  behold- 
ing the  queen  again  for  an  instant  as  she 
disembarked  at  the  summer  palace,  had  fol- 
lowed her  cangia  in  his  boat — little  heeding 
the  sharp  stings  of  the  sun — through  a  heat 
intense  enough  to  make  the  panting  sphinxes 
melt  in  lava-sweat  upon  their  reddened 
pedestals. 

And  then  he  felt  that  the  supreme  mo- 
ment was  nigh,  that  the  decisive  instant  of 


ONE  OF   CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS  35 

his  life  was  at  hand,  and  that  he  could  not 
die  with  his  secret  in  his  breast. 

It  is  a  strange  situation  truly  to  find  one- 
self enamoured  of  a  queen.  It  is  as  though 
one  loved  a  star;  yet  she,  the  star,  comes 
forth  nightly  to  sparkle  in  her  place  in 
heaven.  It  is  a  kind  of  mysterious  rendez- 
vous. You  may  find  her  again,  you  may  see 
her;  she  is  not  offended  at  your  gaze.  Oh, 
misery!  to  be  poor,  unknown,  obscure, 
seated  at  the  very  foot  of  the  ladder,  and  to 
feel  one's  heart  breaking  with  love  for  some- 
thing glittering,  solemn,  and  magnificent — 
for  a  woman  whose  meanest  female  attend- 
ant would  scorn  you  ! — to  gaze  fixedly  and 
fatefully  upon  one  who  never  sees  you,  who 
never  will  see  you  ;  one  to  whom  you  are  no 
more  than  a  ripple  on  the  sea  of  humanity, 
in  nowise  differing  from  the  other  ripples, 
and  who  might  a  hundred  times  encounter 
you  without  once  recognizing  you  ;  to  have 
no  reason  to  offer  should  an  opportunity  for 
addressing  her  present  itself  in  excuse  for 
such  mad  audacity — neither  poetical  talent, 
nor  great  genius,  nor  any  superhuman  quali- 
fication— nothing  but  love;  and  to  be  able 


36  ONE  OF   CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS 

to  offer  in  exchange  for  beauty,  nobility, 
power,  and  all  imaginable  splendor  only 
one's  passion  and  one's  youth — rare  offer- 
ings, forsooth  ! 

Such  were  the  thoughts  which  over- 
whelmed Meïamoun.  Lying  upon  the  sand, 
supporting  his  chin  on  his  palms,  he  per- 
mitted himself  to  be  lifted  and  borne  away 
by  the  inexhaustible  current  of  reverie;  he 
sketched  out  a  thousand  projects,  each  mad- 
der than  the  last.  He  felt  convinced  that 
he  was  seeking  after  the  unattainable,  but 
he  lacked  the  courage  to  frankly  renounce 
his  undertaking,  and  a  perfidious  hope 
came  to  whisper  some  lying  promises  in  his 
ear. 

"  Athor,  mighty  goddess,"  he  murmured 
in  a  deep  voice,  "  what  evil  have  I  done 
against  thee  that  I  should  be  made  thus  mis- 
erable ?  Art  thou  avenging  thyself  for  my 
disdain  of  Nephthe,  daughter  of  the  priest 
Afomouthis  ?  Hast  thou  afflicted  me  thus 
for  having  rejected  the  love  of  Lamia,  the 
Athenian  hetaira,  or  of  Flora,  the  Roman 
courtesan  ?  Is  it  my  fault  that  my  heart 
should    be    sensible    only  to   the   matchless 


ONE  OF  CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS  yj 

beauty  of  thy  rival,  Cleopatra  ?  Why  hast 
thou  wounded  my  soul  with  the  envenomed 
arrow  of  unattainable  love  ?  What  sacrifice, 
what  offerings  dost  thou  desire  ?  Must  I 
erect  to  thee  a  chapel  of  the  rosy  marble  of 
Syene  with  columns  crowned  by  gilded  capi- 
tals, a  ceiling  all  of  one  block,  and  hiero- 
glyphics deeply  sculptured  by  the  best  work- 
men of  Memphis  and  of  Thebes  ?  Answer 
me," 

Like  all  gods  or  goddesses  thus  invoked, 
Athor  answered  not  a  word,  and  Meiamoun 
resolved  upon  a  desperate  expedient. 

Cleopatra,  on  her  part,  likewise  invoked 
the  goddess  Athor.  She  prayed  for  a  new 
pleasure,  for  some  fresh  sensation.  As  she 
languidly  reclined  upon  her  couch  she 
thought  to  herself  that  the  number  of  the 
senses  was  sadly  limited,  that  the  most  ex- 
quisite refinements  of  delight  soon  yielded 
to  satiety,  and  that  it  was  really  no  small 
task  for  a  queen  to  find  means  of  occupying 
her  time.  To  test  new  poisons  upon  slaves  ; 
to  make  men  fight  with  tigers,  or  gladiators 
with  each  other;  to  drink  pearls  dissolved; 
to  swallow  the  wealth  of  a  whole  province — 


38  ONE  OF   CLEOPATRA'S    NIGHTS 

all  these  things  had  become  commonplace 
and  insipid. 

Charmion  was  fairly  at  her  wit's  end,  and 
knew  not  what  to  do  for  her  mistress. 

Suddenly  a  whistling  sound  was  heard, 
and  an  arrow  buried  itself,  quivering,  in  the 
cedar  wainscoting  of  the  wall. 

Cleopatra  well-nigh  fainted  with  terror. 
Charmion  ran  to  the  window,  leaned  out, 
and  beheld  only  a  flake  of  foam  on  the  sur- 
face of  the  river.  A  scroll  of  papyrus  encir- 
cled the  wood  of  the  arrow.  It  bore  only 
these  words,  written  in  Phoenician  charac- 
ters, "  I  love  you  !  " 

CHAPTER    IV 

"  I  LOVE  you,"  repeated  Cleopatra,  mak- 
ingthe  serpent-coiling  strip  of  papyrus  writhe 
between  her  delicate  white  fingers.  "  Those 
are  the  words  I  longed  for.  What  intelli- 
gent spirit,  what  invisible  genius  has  thus 
so  fully  comprehended  my  desire  ?  " 

And  thoroughly  aroused  from  her  languid 
torpor,  she  sprang  out  of  bed  with  the  agil- 
ity   of   a  cat  v/hich  has   scented   a  mouse, 


ONE  OF   CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS  39 

placed  her  little  ivory  feet  in  her  embroid- 
ered tatbebSy  threw  a  byssus  tunic  over  her 
shoulders,  and  ran  to  the  window  from 
which  Charmion  was  still  gazing. 

The  night  was  clear  and  calm.  The  risen 
moon  outlined  with  huge  angles  of  light  and 
shadow  the  architectural  masses  of  the  pal- 
ace, which  stood  out  in  strong  relief  against 
a  background  of  bluish  transparency;  and 
the  waters  of  the  river,  wherein  her  reflection 
lengthened  into  a  shining  column,  were  frost- 
ed with  silvery  ripples.  A  gentle  breeze,  such 
as  might  have  been  mistaken  for  the  respira- 
tion of  the  slumbering  sphinxes,  quivered 
among  the  reeds  and  shook  the  azure  bells 
of  the  lotus  flowers  ;  the  cables  of  the  vessels 
moored  to  the  Nile's  banks  groaned  feebly, 
and  the  rippling  tide  moaned  upon  the  shore 
like  a  dove  lamenting  for  its  mate.  A  vague 
perfume  of  vegetation,  sweeter  than  that  of 
the  aromatics  burned  in  the  anschir  of  the 
priests  of  Anubis,  floated  into  the  chamber. 
It  was  one  of  those  enchanted  nights  of  the 
Orient,  which  are  more  splendid  than  our 
fairest  days  ;  for  our  sun  can  ill  compare  with 
that  Oriental  moon. 


4o  ONE   OF   CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS 

'*  Do  you  not  see  far  over  there,  almost  in 
the  middle  of  the  river,  the  head  of  a  man 
swimming  ?  See,  he  crosses  that  track  of 
light,  and  passes  into  the  shadow  beyond  ! 
He  is  already  out  of  sight  !  "  And,  support- 
ing herself  upon  Charmion's  shoulder,  she 
leaned  out,  with  half  of  her  fair  body  be- 
yond the  sill  of  the  window,  in  the  effort  to 
catch  another  glimpse  of  the  mysterious 
swimmer  ;  but  a  grove  of  Nile  acacias, 
dhoum-palms,  and  sayals  flung  its  deep 
shadow  upon  the  river  in  that  direction,  and 
protected  the  flight  of  the  daring  fugitive. 
If  Meïamoun  had  but  had  the  courtesy  to 
look  back,  he  might  have  beheld  Cleopa- 
tra, the  sidereal  queen,  eagerly  seeking  him 
through  the  night  gloom — he,  the  poor  ob- 
scure Egyptian,  the  miserable  lion-hunter. 

"  Charmion,  Charmion,  send  hither  Phre- 
hipephbour,  the  chief  of  the  rowers,  and 
have  two  boats  despatched  in  pursuit  of  that 
man  !  "  cried  Cleopatra,  whose  curiosity  was 
excited  to  the  highest  pitch. 

Phrehipephbour  appeared,  a  man  of  the 
race  of  Nahasi,  with  large  hands  and  muscu- 
lar arms,   wearing  a  red  cap   not   unlike  a 


ONE   OF   CLEOPATRA  S    NIGHTS  4I 

Phrygian  helmet  in  form,  and  clad  only  in  a 
pair  of  narrow  drawers  diagonally  striped 
with  white  and  blue.  His  huge  torso,  en- 
tirely nude,  black  and  polished  like  a  globe 
of  jet,  shone  under  the  lamplight.  He  re- 
ceived the  commands  of  the  queen  and 
instantly  retired  to  execute  them. 

Two  long,  narrow  boats,  so  light  that  the 
least  inattention  to  equilibrium  would  cap- 
size them,  were  soon  cleaving  the  waters 
of  the  Nile  with  hissing  rapidity  under  the 
efforts  of  the  twenty  vigorous  rowers,  but 
the  pursuit  was  all  in  vain.  After  searching 
the  river  banks  in  every  direction,  and  care- 
fully exploring  every  patch  of  reeds,  Phre- 
hipephbour  returned  to  the  palace,  having 
only  succeeded  in  putting  to  flight  some  soli- 
tary heron  which  had  been  sleeping  on  one 
leg,  or  in  troubling  the  digestion  of  some 
terrified  crocodile. 

So  intense  was  the  vexation  of  Cleopatra 
at  being  thus  foiled,  that  she  felt  a  strong 
inclination  to  condemn  Phrehipephbour 
either  to  the  wild  beasts  or  to  the  hardest 
labor  at  the  grindstone.  Happily,  Charmion 
interceded  for   the   trembling   unfortunate, 


42  ONE    OF   CLEOPATRA'S    NIGHTS 

who  turned  pale  with  fear,  despite  his  black 
skin.  It  was  the  first  time  in  Cleopatra's 
life  that  one  of  her  desires  had  not  been 
gratified  as  soon  as  expressed,  and  she  ex- 
perienced, in  consequence,  a  kind  of  uneasy 
surprise;  a  first  doubt,  as  it  were,  of  her 
own  omnipotence. 

t  She,  Cleopatra,  wife  and  sister  of  Ptolemy — 
she  who  had  been  proclaimed  goddess  Ever- 
getes,  living  queen  of  the  regions  Above  and 
Below,  Eye  of  Light,  Chosen  of  the  Sun  (as 
may  still  be  read  within  the  cartouches  sculp- 
tured on  the  walls  of  the  temples) — she  to 
find  an  obstacle  in  her  path,  to  have  wished 
aught  that  failed  of  accomplishment,  to  have 
spoken  and  not  been  obeyed  !  As  well  be 
the  wife  of  some  wretched  Paraschistes, 
some  corpse-cutter,  and  melt  natron  in  a 
caldron!  It  w^as  monstrous,  preposterous! 
and  none  but  the  most  gentle  and  clement 
of  queens  could  have  refrained  from  crucify- 
ing that  miserable  Phrehipephbour. 

You  wished  for  some  adventure,  some- 
thing strange  and  unexpected.  Your  wish 
has  been  gratified.  You  find  that  your  king- 
dom is  not  so  dead  as  you  deemed  it.     It 


ONE   OF   CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS  43 

was  not  the  stony  arm  of  a  statue  which  shot 
that  arrow;  it  was  not  from  a  mummy's 
heart  that  came  those  three  words  which 
have  moved  even  you — you  who  smilingly 
watched  your  poisoned  slaves  dashing  their 
heads  and  beating  their  feet  upon  your  beau- 
tiful mosaic  and  porphyry  pavements  in  the 
convulsions  of  death-agony;  you  who  even 
applauded  the  tiger  which  boldly  buried  its 
muzzle  in  the  flank  of  some  vanquished 
gladiator. 

You  could  obtain  all  else  you  might  wish 
for — chariots  of  silver,  starred  with  emeralds  ; 
grifîfin-quadrigerae;  tunics  of  purple  thrice- 
dyed  ;  mirrors  of  molten  steel,  so  clear  that 
you  might  find  the  charms  of  your  loveliness 
faithfully  copied  in  them  ;  robes  from  the 
land  of  Serica,  so  fine  and  subtly  light  that 
they  could  be  drawn  through  the  ring  worn 
upon  your  little  finger  ;  Orient  pearls  of  won- 
drous color;  cups  wrought  by  Myron  or 
Lysippus;  Indian  paroquets  that  speak  like 
poets — all  things  else  you  could  obtain,  even 
should  you  ask  for  the  Cestus  of  Venus  or 
the  pshent  of  Isis,  but  most  certainly  you 
cannot  this  night  capture  the  man  who  shot 


44  ONE   OF  CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS 

the  arrow  which  still  quivers  in  the  cedar 
wood  of  your  couch. 

The  task  of  the  slaves  who  must  dress  you 
to-morrow  will  not  be  a  grateful  one.  They 
will  hardly  escape  with  blows.  The  bosom 
of  the  unskilful  waiting-maid  will  be  apt  to 
prove  a  cushion  for  the  golden  pins  of  the 
toilette,  and  the  poor  hairdresser  will  run 
great  risk  of  being  suspended  by  her  feet 
from  the  ceiling. 

**  Who  could  have  had  the  audacity  to 
send  me  this  avowal  upon  the  shaft  of  an 
arrow  ?  Could  it  have  been  the  Nomarch 
Amoun-Ra  who  fancies  himself  handsomer 
than  the  Apollo  of  the  Greeks  ?  What  think 
you,  Charmion  ?  Or  perhaps  Cheapsiro, 
commander  of  Hermothybia,  who  is  so 
boastful  of  his  conquests  in  the  land  of 
Kush  ?  Or  is  it  not  more  likely  to  have 
been  young  Sextus,  that  Roman  debauchee 
who  paints  his  face,  lisps  in  speaking,  and 
wears  sleeves  in  the  fashion  of  the  Persians  ?" 

"  Queen,  it  was  none  of  those.  Though 
you  are  indeed  the  fairest  of  women,  those 
men  only  flatter  you  ;  they  do  not  love  you. 
The  Nomarch  Amoun-Ra  has  chosen  him- 


ONE  OF  CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS  45 

self  an  idol  to  which  he  will  be  forever  faith- 
ful, and  that  is  his  own  person.  The  war- 
rior Cheâpsiro  thinks  of  nothing  save  the 
pleasure  of  recounting  his  victories.  As  for 
Sextus,  he  is  so  seriously  occupied  with  the 
preparation  of  a  new  cosmetic  that  he  cannot 
dream  of  anything  else.  Besides,  he  had 
just  purchased  some  Laconian  dresses,  a 
number  of  yellow  tunics  embroidered  with 
gold,  and  some  Asiatic  children  which  ab- 
sorb all  his  time.  Not  one  of  those  fine 
lords  would  risk  his  head  in  so  daring  and 
dangerous  an  undertaking;  they  do  not  love 
you  well  enough  for  that. 

**  Yesterday,  in  your  cangia,  you  said  that 
men  dared  not  fix  their  dazzled  eyes  upon 
you  ;  that  they  knew  only  how  to  turn  pale 
in  your  presence,  to  fall  at  your  feet  and 
supplicate  your  mercy;  and  that  your  sole 
remaining  resource  would  be  to  awake  some 
ancient,  bitumen-perfumed  Pharaoh  from 
his  gilded  coffin.  Now  here  is  an  ardent 
and  youthful  heart  that  loves  you.  What 
will  you  do  with  it  ?  " 

Cleopatra  that  night  sought  slumber  in 
vain.     She  tossed  feverishly  upon  her  couch. 


46  ONE  OF  CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS 

and  long  and  vainly  invoked  Morpheus,  the 
brother  of  Death.  She  incessantly  repeated 
that  she  was  the  most  unhappy  of  queens, 
that  every  one  sought  to  persecute  her,  and 
that  her  life  had  become  insupportable  ;  woe- 
ful lamentations  which  had  little  effect  upon 
Charmion,  although  she  pretended  to  sym- 
pathize with  them. 

Let  us  for  a  while  leave  Cleopatra  to  seek 
fugitive  sleep,  and  direct  her  suspicions  suc- 
cessively upon  each  noble  of  the  court.  Let 
us  return  to  Meïamoun,  and  as  we  are  much 
more  sagacious  than  Phrehipephbour,  chief 
of  the  rowers,  we  shall  have  no  difficulty  in 
finding  him. 

Terrified  at  his  own  hardihood,  Meïamoun 
had  thrown  himself  into  the  Nile,  and  had 
succeeded  in  swimming  the  current  and  gain- 
ing the  little  grove  of  dhoum-palms  before 
Phrehipephbour  had  even  launched  the  two 
boats  in  pursuit  of  him. 

When  he  had  recovered  breath,  and 
brushed  back  his  long  black  locks,  all  damp 
with  river  foam,  behind  his  ears,  he  began 
to  feel  more  at  ease,  more  inwardly  calm. 
Cleopatra   possessed  something  which  had 


ONE   OF   CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS  47 

come  from  him;  some  sort  of  communica- 
tion was  now  established  between  them. 
Cleopatra  was  thinking  of  him,  Meïamoun. 
Perhaps  that  thought  might  be  one  of  wrath  ; 
but  then  he  had  at  least  been  able  to  awake 
some  feeling  within  her,  whether  of  fear, 
anger,  or  pity.  He  had  forced  her  to  the 
consciousness  of  his  existence.  It  was  true 
that  he  had  forgotten  to  inscribe  his  name 
upon  the  papyrus  scroll,  but  what  more 
of  him  could  the  queen  have  learned  from 
the  inscription,  Meïamoun^  Son  of  Mandoii- 
schopsh  ?  In  her  eyes  the  slave  and  the  mon- 
arch were  equal.  A  goddess  in  choosing  a 
peasant  for  her  lover  stoops  no  lower  than 
in  choosing  a  patrician  or  a  king.  The  Im- 
mortals from  a  height  so  lofty  can  behold 
only  love  in  the  man  of  their  choice. 

The  thought  which  had  weighed  upon  his 
breast  like  the  knee  of  a  colossus  of  brass 
had  at  last  departed.  It  had  traversed  the 
air;  it  had  even  reached  the  queen  herself, 
the  apex  of  the  triangle,  the  inaccessible 
summit.  It  had  aroused  curiosity  in  that 
impassive  heart  ;  a  prodigious  advance,  truly, 
toward  success. 


48  ONE  OF  CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS 

Meïamoun,  indeed,  never  suspected  that 
he  had  so  thoroughly  succeeded  in  this  wise, 
but  he  felt  more  tranquil  ;  for  he  had  sworn 
unto  himself  by  that  mystic  Bari  who  guides 
the  souls  of  the  dead  to  Amenthi,  by  the 
sacred  birds  Bermou  and  Ghenghen,  by  Ty- 
phon and  by  Osiris,  and  by  all  things  aw- 
ful in  Egyptian  mythology,  that  he  should 
be  the  accepted  lover  of  Cleopatra,  though 
it  were  but  for  a  single  night,  though  for 
only  a  single  hour,  though  it  should  cost 
him  his  life  and  even  his  very  soul. 

If  we  must  explain  how  he  had  fallen  so 
deeply  in  love  with  a  woman  whom  he  had 
beheld  only  from  afar  off,  and  to  whom  he 
had  hardly  dared  to  raise  his  eyes — even  he 
who  was  wont  to  gaze  fearlessly  into  the 
yellow  eyes  of  the  lion — or  how  the  tiny 
seed  of  love,  chance-fallen  upon  his  heart, 
had  grown  there  so  rapidly  and  extended  its 
roots  so  deeply,  we  can  answer  only  that  it 
is  a  mystery  which  we  are  unable  to  ex- 
plain. We  have  already  said  of  Meïamoun, 
— The  Abyss  called  him. 

Once  assured  that  Phrehipephbour  had 
returned  with  his   rowers,   he  again  threw 


ONE  OF  CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS  49 

himself  into  the  current  and  once  more  swam 
toward  the  palace  of  Cleopatra,  whose  lamp 
still  shone  through  the  window  curtains  like 
a  painted  star.  Never  did  Leander  swim 
with  more  courage  and  vigor  toward  the 
tower  of  Sestos;  yet  for  Meïamoun  no  Hero 
was  waiting,  ready  to  pour  vials  of  perfume 
upon  his  head  to  dissipate  the  briny  odors 
of  the  sea  and  banish  the  sharp  kisses  of  the 
storm. 

A  strong  blow  from  some  keen  lance  or 
harpe  was  certainly  the  worst  he  had  to  fear, 
and  in  truth  he  had  but  little  fear  of  such 
things. 

He  swam  close  under  the  walls  of  the  pal- 
ace, which  bathed  its  marble  feet  in  the 
river's  depths,  and  paused  an  instant  before 
a  submerged  archway  into  which  the  water 
rushed  downward  in  eddying  whirls.  Twice, 
thrice  he  plunged  into  the  vortex  unsuccess- 
fully. At  last,  with  better  luck,  he  found 
the  opening  and  disappeared. 

This  archway  was  the  opening  to  a  vaulted 
canal  which  conducted  the  waters  of  the 
Nile  into  the  baths  of  Cleopatra. 


50  ONE   OF   CLEOPATRA'S    NIGHTS 

CHAPTER    V 

Cleopatra  found  no  rest  until  morning, 
at  the  hour  when  wandering  dreams  reenter 
the  Ivory  Gate.  Amid  the  illusions  of  sleep 
she  beheld  all  kinds  of  lovers  swimming  rivers 
and  scaling  walls  in  order  to  come  to  her, 
and,  through  the  vague  souvenirs  of  th(^  night 
before,  her  dreams  appeared  fairly  riddled 
v/ith  arrows  bearing  declarations  of  love. 
Starting  nervously  from  time  to  time  in  her 
troubled  slumbers,  she  struck  her  little  feet 
unconsciously  against  the  bosom  of  Char- 
mion,  who  lay  across  the  foot  of  the  bed  to 
serve  her  as  a  cushion. 

When  she  awoke,  a  merry  sunbeam  was 
playing  through  the  window  curtain,  whose 
woof  it  penetrated  with  a  thousand  tiny 
points  of  light,  and  thence  came  familiarly 
to  the  bed,  flitting  like  a  golden  butterfly 
over  her  lovely  shoulders,  which  it  lightly 
touched  in  passing  by  with  a  luminous  kiss. 
Happy  sunbeam,  which  the  gods  might  well 
have  envied. 

In  a  faint  voice,  like  that  of  a  sick  child. 


ONE  OF   CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS  5 1 

Cleopatra  asked  to  be  lifted  out  of  bed. 
Two  of  her  women  raised  her  in  their  arms 
and  gently  laid  her  on  a  tiger-skin  stretched 
upon  the  floor,  of  which  the  eyes  were 
formed  of  carbuncles  and  the  claws  of  gold. 
Charmion  wrapped  her  in  2.calasiris  of  linen 
whiter  than  milk,  confined  her  hair  in  a  net 
of  woven  silver  threads,  tied  to  her  little  feet 
cork  tatbebs  upon  the  soles  of  which  were 
painted,  in  token  of  contempt,  two  grotesque 
figures,  representing  two  men  of  the  races  of 
Nahasi  and  Nahmou,  bound  hand  and  foot, 
so  that  Cleopatra  literally  deserved  the 
epithet,  "  Conculcatrix  of  Nations,"  "^  which 
the  royal  cartouche  inscriptions  bestow  upon 
her. 

It  was  the  hour  for  the  bath.  Cleopatra 
went  to  bathe,  accompanied  by  her  Avomen. 

The  baths  of  Cleopatra  were  built  in  the 
midst  of  immense  gardens  filled  with  mimo- 
sas, aloes,  carob-trees,  citron-trees,  and  Per- 
sian apple-trees,   whose  luxuriant  freshness 

*  Conculcatrice  des  peuples.  From  the  Latin  con- 
culcare,  to  trample  under  foot  :  therefore,  the  epi- 
thet literally  signifies  the  "Trampler  of  nations." 
— [Trans.] 


52  ONE  OF   CLEOPATRA  S   NIGHTS 

afforded  a  delicious  contrast  to  the  arid 
appearance  of  the  neighboring  vegetation. 
There,  too,  vast  terraces  uplifted  masses  of 
verdant  foliage,  and  enabled  flowers  to  climb 
almost  to  the  very  sky  upon  gigantic  stair- 
ways of  rose-colored  granite  ;  vases  of  Pen- 
telic  marble  bloomed  at  the  end  of  each  step 
like  huge  lily-flowers,  and  the  plants  they 
contained  seemed  only  their  pistils  ;  chimeras 
caressed  into  form  by  the  chisels  of  the  most 
skilful  Greek  sculptors,  and  less  stern  of 
aspect  than  the  Egyptian  sphinxes,  with 
their  grim  mien  and  moody  attitudes,  softly 
extended  their  limbs  upon  the  flower-strewn 
turf,  like  shapely  white  leverettes  upon  a 
drawing-room  carpet.  These  were  charming 
feminine  figures,  with  finely  chiselled  nostrils, 
smooth  brows,  small  mouths,  delicately  dim- 
pled arms,  breasts  fair-rounded  and  daintily 
formed  ;  wearing  earrings,  necklaces,  and  all 
the  trinkets  suggested  by  adorable  caprice  ; 
whose  bodies  terminated  in  bifurcated 
fishes'  tails,  like  the  women  described  by 
Horace,  or  extended  into  birds'  wings,  or 
rounded  into  lions'  haunches,  or  blended 
into    volutes    of    foliage,    according   to    the 


ONE  OF  CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS  53 

fancies  of  the  artist  or  in  conformity  to  the 
architectural  position  chosen.  A  double  row 
of  these  delightful  monsters  lined  the  alley 
which  led  from  the  palace  to  the  bathing 
halls. 

At  the  end  of  this  alley  was  a  huge  foun- 
tain-basin, approached  by  four  porphyry 
stairways.  Through  the  transparent  depths 
of  the  diamond-clear  water  the  steps  could 
be  seen  descending  to  the  bottom  of  the 
basin,  which  was  strewn  with  gold-dust  in 
lieu  of  sand.  Here  figures  of  women  ter- 
minating in  pedestals  like  Caryatides* 
spurted  from  their  breasts  slender  jets  of 
perfumed  water,  which  fell  into  the  basin  in 
silvery  dew,  pitting  the  clear  watery  mirror 
with  wrinkle-creating  drops.  In  addition  to 
this  task  these  Caryatides  had  likewise  that 
of  supporting  upon  their  heads  an  entabla- 
ture decorated  with  Nereids  and  Tritons  in 
bas-relief,  and  furnished  with  rings  of  bronze 
to  which  the  silken  cords  of  a  velarium  might 
be  attached.     From  the  portico  was  visible 

*  The  Greeks  and  Romans  usually  termed  such 
figures  Hermœ  or  Termini.  Caryatides  were,  strictly, 
entire  figures  of  women. — [Trans.] 


54  ONE  OF  CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS 

an  extending  expanse  of  freshly  humid, 
bluish-green  verdure  and  cool  shade,  a  frag- 
ment of  the  Vale  of  Tempe  transported  to 
Egypt.  The  famous  gardens  of  Semiramis 
would  not  have  borne  comparison  with 
these. 

We  will  not  pause  to  describe  the  seven 
or  eight  other  halls  of  various  temperature, 
with  their  hot  and  cold  vapors,  perfume 
boxes,  cosmetics,  oils,  pumice  stone,  gloves 
of  woven  horsehair,  and  all  the  refinements 
of  the  antique  balneatory  art  brought  to  the 
highest  pitch  of  voluptuous  perfection. 

Hither  came  Cleopatra,  leaning  with  one 
hand  upon  the  shoulder  of  Charmion.  She 
had  taken  at  least  thirty  steps  all  by  herself. 
Mighty  effort,  enormous  fatigue  !  A  tender 
tint  of  rose  commenced  to  suffuse  the  trans- 
parent skin  of  her  cheeks,  refreshing  their 
passionate  pallor;  a  blue  network  of  veins 
relieved  the  amber  blondness  of  her  tem- 
ples ;  her  marble  forehead,  low  like  the  an- 
tique foreheads,  but  full  and  perfect  in  form, 
united  by  one  faultless  line  with  a  straight 
nose,  finely  chiselled  as  a  cameo,  with  rosy 
nostrils  which  the  least  emotion  made  pal- 


ONE  OF  CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS  55 

pitate  like  the  nostrils  of  an  amorous  tigress  ; 
the  lips  of  her  small,  rounded  mouth,  slightly- 
separated  from  the  nose,  wore  a  disdainful 
curve;  but  an  unbridled  voluptuousness,  an 
indescribable  vital  warmth,  glowed  in  the 
brilliant  crimson  and  humid  lustre  of  the 
under  lip.  Her  eyes  were  shaded  by  level 
eyelids,  and  eyebrows  slightly  arched  and 
delicately  outlined.  We  cannot  attempt  by 
description  to  convey  an  idea  of  their  bril- 
liancy. It  was  a  fire,  a  languor,  a  sparkling 
limpidity  which  might  have  made  even  the 
dog-headed  Anubis  giddy.  Every  glance  of 
her  eyes  was  in  itself  a  poem  richer  than 
aught  of  Homer  or  Mimnermus.  An  im- 
perial chin,  replete  with  force  and  power  to 
command,  worthily  completed  this  charming 
profile. 

She  stood  erect  upon  the  upper  step  of 
the  basin,  in  an  attitude  full  of  proud  grace; 
her  figure  slightly  thrown  back,  and  one  foot 
in  suspense,  like  a  goddess  about  to  leave 
her  pedestal,  whose  eyes  still  linger  on 
heaven.  Her  robe  fell  in  two  superb  folds 
from  the  peaks  of  her  bosom  to  her  feet  in 
unbroken  lines.      Had  Cleomenes  been  her 


S6  ONE   OF  CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS 

contemporary  and  enjoyed  the  happiness  of 
beholding  her  thus,  he  would  have  broken 
his  Venus  in  despair. 

Before  entering  the  water  she  bade  Char- 
mion,  for  a  new  caprice,  to  change  her  silver 
hair-net  ;  she  preferred  to  be  crowned  with 
reeds  and  lotos-flowers,  like  a  water  divinity. 
Charmion  obeyed,  and  her  liberated  hair 
fell  in  black  cascades  over  her  shoulders, 
and  shadowed  her  beautiful  cheeks  in  rich 
bunches,  like  ripening  grapes. 

Then  the  linen  tunic,  which  had  been  con- 
fined only  by  one  golden  clasp,  glided  down 
over  her  marble  body,  and  fell  in  a  white 
cloud  at  her  feet,  like  the  swan  at  the  feet 
of  Leda.   .   .   . 

And  Meïamoun,  where  was  he  ? 

Oh  cruel  lot,  that  so  many  insensible  ob- 
jects should  enjoy  the  favors  which  would 
ravish  a  lover  with  delight  !  The  wind  which 
toys  with  a  wealth  of  perfumed  hair,  or  kisses 
beautiful  lips  with  kisses  which  it  is  unable 
to  appreciate;  the  water  which  envelops  an 
adorably  beautiful  body  in  one  universal  kiss, 
and  is  yet,  notwithstanding,  indifferent  to 
that  exquisite  pleasure;    the  mirror  which 


ONE  OF  CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS  57 

reflects  so  many  charming  images;  the 
buskin  or  tatbeb  which  clasps  a  divine  little 
foot — oh,  what  happiness  lost  ! 

Cleopatra  dipped  her  pink  heel  in  the 
water  and  descended  a  few  steps.  The 
quivering  flood  made  a  silver  belt  about  her 
waist,  and  silver  bracelets  about  her  arms, 
and  rolled  in  pearls  like  a  broken  necklace 
over  her  bosom  and  shoulders;  her  wealth 
of  hair,  lifted  by  the  water,  extended  behind 
her  like  a  royal  mantle  ;  even  in  the  bath 
she  was  a  queen.  She  swam  to  and  fro, 
dived,  and  brought  up  handfuls  of  gold-dust 
with  which  she  laughingly  pelted  some  of 
her  women.  Again,  she  clung  suspended 
to  the  balustrade  of  the  basin,  concealing  or 
exposing  her  treasures  of  loveliness — now 
permitting  only  her  lustrous  and  polished 
back  to  be  seen,  now  showing  her  whole 
figure,  like  Venus  Anadyomene,  and  inces- 
santly varying  the  aspects  of  her  beauty. 

Suddenly  she  uttered  a  cry  as  shrill  as  that 
of  Diana  surprised  by  Actaeon.  She  had 
seen  gleaming  through  the  neighboring  foli- 
age a  burning  eye,  yellow  and  phosphoric  as 
the  eye  of  a  crocodile  or  lion. 


58  ONE   OF   CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS 

It  was  Meiamoun,  who,  crouching  behind 
a  tuft  of  leaves,  and  trembHng  like  a  fawn 
in  a  field  of  wheat,  was  intoxicating  himself 
with  the  dangerous  pleasure  of  beholding  the 
queen  in  her  bath.  Though  brave  even  to 
temerity,  the  cry  of  Cleopatra  passed  through 
his  heart,  coldly  piercing  as  the  blade  of  a 
sword.  A  death-like  sweat  covered  his 
whole  body;  his  arteries  hissed  through  his 
temples  with  a  sharp  sound  ;  the  iron  hand 
of  anxious  fear  had  seized  him  by  the  throat 
and  was  strangling  him. 

The  eunuchs  rushed  forward,  lance  in  hand. 
Cleopatra  pointed  out  to  them  the  group  of 
trees,  where  they  found  Meïamoun  crouch- 
ing in  concealment.  Defence  was  out  of  the 
question.  He  attempted  none,  and  suffered 
himself  to  be  captured.  They  prepared  to 
kill  him  with  that  cruel  and  stupid  impassi- 
bility characteristic  of  eunuchs;  but  Cleo- 
patra, who,  in  the  interim,  had  covered  her- 
self with  her  calasiris,  made  signs  to  them 
to  stop,  and  bring  the  prisoner  before  her. 

Meiamoun  could  only  fall  upon  his  knees 
and  stretch  forth  suppliant  hands  to  her,  as 
to  the  altars  of  the  gods. 


ONE  OF  CLEOPATRA  S   NIGHTS  59 

**  Are  you  some  assassin  bribed  by  Rome, 
or  for  what  purpose  have  you  entered  these 
sacred  precincts  from  which  all  men  are  ex- 
cluded ?"  demanded  Cleopatra  with  an  im- 
perious gesture  of  interrogation. 

**  May  my  soul  be  found  light  in  the  bal- 
ance of  Amenti,  and  may  Tme'i,  daughter 
of  the  Sun  and  goddess  of  Truth,  punish 
me  if  I  have  ever  entertained  a  thought  of 
evil  against  you,  O  queen!"  answered 
Meïamoun,  still  upon  his  knees. 

Sincerity  and  loyalty  were  written  upon 
his  countenance  in  characters  so  transparent 
that  Cleopatra  immediately  banished  her  sus- 
picions, and  looked  upon  the  young  Egyp- 
tian with  a  look  less  stern  and  wrathful. 
She  saw  that  he  was  beautiful. 

"  Then  what  motive  could  have  prompted 
you  to  enter  a  place  where  you  could  only 
expect  to  meet  death  ?  " 

"  I  love  you  !  "  murmured  Meïamoun  in  a 
low,  but  distinct  voice;  for  his  courage  had 
returned,  as  in  every  desperate  situation 
when  the  odds  against  him  could  be  no 
worse. 

"Ah!"  cried  Cleopatra,  bending  toward 


6o  ONE   OF   CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS 

him,  and  seizing  his  arm  with  a  sudden 
brusque  movement,  "  so,  then,  it  was  you 
who  shot  that  arrow  with  the  papyrus  scroll  ! 
By  Oms,  the  Dog  of  Hell,  you  are  a  very 
foolhardy  wretch  !  .  .  .  I  now  recognize 
you.  I  long  observed  you  wandering  like  a 
complaining  Shade  about  the  places  where 
I  dwell.  .  .  .  You  were  at  the  Procession 
of  Isis,  at  the  Panegyris  of  Hermonthis. 
You  followed  the  royal  cangia.  Ah!  you 
must  have  a  queen  ?  .  .  .  You  have  no 
mean  ambitions.  You  expect,  without 
doubt,  to  be  well  paid  in  return.  .  .  .  As- 
suredly I  am  going  to  love  you.  .  .  .  Why 
not  ?" 

"  Queen,"  returned  Meiamoun  with  a  look 
of  deep  melancholy,  "  do  not  rail.  I  am 
mad,  it  is  true.  I  have  deserved  death;  that 
is  also  true.  Be  humane;  bid  them  kill 
me." 

"  No;  I  have  taken  the  whim  to  be 
clement  to-day.      I  will  give  you  your  life." 

"  What  would  you  that  I  should  do  with 
life  ?     I  love  you  !  " 

"  Well,  then,  you  shall  be  satisfied;  you 
shall  die,"  answered  Cleopatra.     "  You  have 


ONE   OF   CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS  6l 

indulged  yourself  in  wild  and  extravagant 
dreams  ;  in  fancy  your  desires  have  crossed 
an  impassable  threshold.  You  imagined 
yourself  to  be  Caesar  or  Mark  Antony.  You 
loved  the  queen.  In  some  moment  of  de- 
lirium you  have  been  able  to  believe  that, 
under  some  condition  of  things  which  takes 
place  but  once  in  a  thousand  years,  Cleo- 
patra might  some  day  love  you.  Well,  what 
you  thought  impossible  is  actually  about  to 
happen.  I  will  transform  your  dream  into  a 
reality.  It  pleases  me,  for  once,  to  secure 
the  accomplishment  of  a  mad  hope.  I  am 
willing  to  inundate  you  with  glories  and 
splendors  and  lightnings.  I  intend  that 
your  good  fortune  shall  be  dazzling  in  its 
brilliancy.  You  were  at  the  bottom  of  the 
ladder.  I  am  about  to  lift  you  to  the  sum- 
mit, abruptly,  suddenly,  without  a  transi- 
tion. I  take  you  out  of  nothingness,  I  make 
you  the  equal  of  a  god,  and  I  plunge  you 
back  again  into  nothingness  ;  that  is  all.  But 
do  not  presume  to  call  me  cruel  or  to  invoke 
my  pity;  do  not  weaken  when  the  hour 
comes.  I  am  good  to  you.  I  lend  myself 
to  your  folly.      I  have  the  right  to  order  you 


62  ONE  OF   CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS 

to  be  killed  at  once  ;  but  since  you  tell  me 
that  you  love  me,  I  will  have  you  killed  to- 
morrow instead.  Your  life  belongs  to  me 
for  one  night.  I  am  generous.  I  will  buy 
it  from  you  ;  I  could  take  it  from  you.  But 
what  are  you  doing  on  your  knees  at  my 
feet  ?  Rise,  and  give  me  your  arm,  that  we 
may  return  to  the  palace." 


CHAPTER   VI 

Our  world  of  to-day  is  puny  indeed  beside 
the  antique  world.  Our  banquets  are  mean, 
niggardly,  compared  with  the  appalling 
sumptuousness  of  the  Roman  patricians  and 
the  princes  of  ancient  Asia.  Their  ordinary 
repasts  would  in  these  days  be  regarded  as 
frenzied  orgies,  and  a  whole  modern  city 
could  subsist  for  eight  days  upon  the  leav- 
ings of  one  supper  given  by  Lucullus  to  a 
few  intimate  friends.  With  our  miserable 
habits  we  find  it  difficult  to  conceive  of 
those  enormous  existences,  realizing  every- 
thing vast,  strange,  and  most  monstrously 
impossible    that    imagination    could  devise. 


ONE  OF  CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS  63 

Our  palaces  are  mere  stables,  in  which  Calig- 
ula would  not  quarter  his  horse.  The  reti- 
nue of  our  wealthiest  constitutional  king  is 
as  nothing  compared  with  that  of  a  petty- 
satrap  or  a  Roman  proconsul.  The  radiant 
suns  which  once  shone  upon  the  earth  are 
forever  extinguished  in  the  nothingness  of 
uniformity.  Above  the  dark  swarm  of  men 
no  longer  tower  those  Titanic  colossi  who 
bestrode  the  world  in  three  paces,  like  the 
steeds  of  Homer  ;  no  more  towers  of 
Lylacq  ;  no  giant  Babel  scaling  the  sky  with 
its  infinity  of  spirals;  no  temples  immeasur- 
able, builded  with  the  fragments  of  quarried 
mountains  ;  no  kingly  terraces  for  which  suc- 
cessive ages  and  generations  could  each  erect 
but  one  step,  and  from  whence  some  dream- 
fully reclining  prince  might  gaze  on  the  face 
of  the  world  as  upon  a  map  unfolded;  no 
more  of  those  extravagantly  vast  cities  of 
cyclopaean  edifices,  inextricably  piled  upon 
one  another,  with  their  mighty  circumvalla- 
tions,  their  circuses  roaring  night  and  day, 
their  reservoirs  filled  with  ocean  brine  and 
peopled  with  whales  and  leviathans,  their 
colossal  stairways,  their  super-imposition  of 


64  ONE   OF   CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS 

terraces,  their  tower-summits  bathed  in 
clouds,  their  giant  palaces,  their  aqueducts, 
their  multitude-vomiting  gates,  their  shad- 
owy necropoli.  Alas!  henceforth  only  plas- 
ter hives  upon  chessboard  pavements. 

One  marvels  that  men  did  not  revolt 
against  such  confiscation  of  all  riches  and 
all  living  forces  for  the  benefit  of  a  few  priv- 
ileged ones,  and  that  such  exorbitant  fan- 
tasies should  not  have  encountered  any 
opposition  on  their  bloody  way.  It  was 
because  those  prodigious  lives  were  the 
realizations  by  day  of  the  dreams  which 
haunted  each  man  by  night,  the  personifica- 
tions of  the  common  ideal  which  the  nations 
beheld  living  symbolized  under  one  of  those 
meteoric  names  that  flame  inextinguishably 
through  the  night  of  ages.  To-day,  de- 
prived of  such  dazzling  spectacles  of  om- 
nipotent will,  of  the  lofty  contemplation  of 
some  human  mind  whose  least  wish  makes 
itself  visible  in  actions  unparalleled,  in  enor- 
mities of  granite  and  brass,  the  world  be- 
comes irredeemably  and  hopelessly  dull. 
Man  is  no  longer  represented  in  the  realiza- 
tion of  his  imperial  fancy. 


ONE  OF   CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS  65 

The  story  which  we  are  writing,  and  the 
great  name  of  Cleopatra  which  appears  in  it, 
have  prompted  us  to  these  reflections,  so  ill- 
sounding,  doubtless,  to  modern  ears.  But 
the  spectacle  of  the  antique  world  is  some- 
thing so  crushingly  discouraging,  even  to 
those  imaginations  which  deem  themselves 
exhaustless,  and  those  minds  which  fancy 
themselves  to  have  conceived  the  utmost 
limits  of  fairy  magnificence,  that  we  cannot 
here  forbear  recording  our  regret  and  lam- 
entation that  we  were  not  cotemporaries  of 
Sardanapalus  ;  of  Teglathphalazar;  of  Cleo- 
patra, queen  of  Egypt  ;  or  even  of  Elagaba- 
lus,  emperor  of  Rome  and  priest  of  the 
Sun. 

It  is  our  task  to  describe  a  supreme  orgie 
— a  banquet  compared  with  which  the  splen- 
dors of  Belshazzar's  feast  must  pale — one  of 
Cleopatra's  nights.  How  can  we  picture 
forth  in  this  French  tongue,  so  chaste,  so 
icily  prudish,  that  unbounded  transport  of 
passions,  that  huge  and  mighty  debauch 
which  feared  not  to  mingle  the  double  pur- 
ple of  wine  and  blood,  those  furious  out- 
bursts of  insatiate  pleasure,  madly  leaping 


66  ONE   OF  CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS 

toward  the  Impossible  with  all  the  wild 
ardor  of  senses  as  yet  untamed  by  the  long 
fast  of  Christianity  ? 

The  promised  night  should  well  have  been 
a  splendid  one,  for  all  the  joys  and  pleasures 
possible  in  a  human  lifetime  were  to  be  con- 
centrated into  the  space  of  a  few  hours.  It 
was  necessary  that  the  life  of  Meïamoun 
should  be  converted  into  a  powerful  elixir 
which  he  could  imbibe  at  a  single  draught. 
Cleopatra  desired  to  dazzle  her  voluntary 
victim,  and  plunge  him  into  a  whirlpool  of 
dizzy  pleasures;  to  intoxicate  and  madden 
him  with  the  wine  of  orgie,  so  that  death, 
though  freely  accepted,  might  come  invisi- 
bly and  unawares. 

Let  us  transport  our  readers  to  the  ban- 
quet-hall. 

9  Our  existing  architecture  offers  few  points 
for  comparison  with  those  vast  edifices  whose 
very  ruins  resemble  the  crumblings  of  moun- 
tains rather  than  the  remains  of  buildings. 
It  needed  all  the  exaggeration  of  the  antique 
life  to  animate  and  fill  those  prodigious  pal- 
aces, whose  halls  were  too  lofty  and  vast  to 
allow  of  any  ceiling  save  the  sky  itself — a 


ONE  OF  CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS  6/ 

magnificent  ceiling,  and  well  worthy  of  such 
mighty  architecture. 

The  banquet-hall  was  of  enormous  and 
Babylonian  dimensions;  the  eye  could  not 
penetrate  its  immeasurable  depth.  Mon- 
strous columns — short,  thick,  and  solid 
enough  to  sustain  the  pole  itself — heavily 
expanded  their  broad-swelling  shafts  upon 
socles  variegated  with  hieroglyphics,  and 
sustained  upon  their  bulging  capitals  gigan- 
tic arcades  of  granite  rising  by  successive 
tiers,  like  vast  stairways  reversed.  Between 
each  two  pillars  a  colossal  sphinx  of  basalt, 
crowned  with  the  pschent,  bent  forward  her 
oblique-eyed  face  and  horned  chin,  and  gazed 
into  the  hall  with  a  fixed  and  mysterious 
look.  The  columns  of  the  second  tier,  re- 
ceding from  the  first,  were  more  elegantly 
formed,  and  crowned  in  lieu  of  capitals  with 
four  female  heads  addorsed,  wearing  caps  of 
many  folds  and  all  the  intricacies  of  the 
Egyptian  headdress.  Instead  of  sphinxes, 
bull-headed  idols — impassive  spectators  of 
nocturnal  frenzy  and  the  furies  of  orgie — were 
seated  upon  thrones  of  stone,  like  patient 
hosts  awaiting  the  opening  of  the  banquet. 


68  ONE  OF  CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS 

A  third  story,  constructed  in  a  yet  differ- 
ent style  of  architecture,  with  elephants  of 
bronze  spouting  perfume  from  their  trunks, 
crowned  the  edifice  ;  above,  the  sky  yawned 
like  a  blue  gulf,  and  the  curious  stars  leaned 
over  the  frieze." 

Prodigious  stairways  of  porphyry,  so 
highly  polished  that  they  reflected  the  hu- 
man body  like  a  mirror,  ascended  and  de- 
scended on  every  hand,  and  bound  together 
these  huge  masses  of  architecture. 

We  can  only  make  a  very  rapid  sketch 
here,  in  order  to  convey  some  idea  of  this 
awful  structure,  proportioned  out  of  all  hu- 

*  Does  not  this  sus^gest  the  lines  which  DeQuincey 
so  much  admired  ? — 

"  A  wilderness  of  building,  sinking  far, 
And  self-withdrawn  into  a  wondrous  depth 
Far  sinking  into  splendor,  without  end. 
Fabric  it  seemed  of  diamond,  and  of  gold, 
With  alabaster  domes  and  silver  spires, 
And  blazing  terrace  upon  terrace,  high 
Uplifted.    Here  serene  pavilions  bright, 
In  avenues  disposed  ;  their  towers  begirt 
With  battlements  that  on  their  restless  fronts 
Bore  stars'* 


ONE  OF  CLEOPATRA'S  NIGHTS  69 

man  measurements.  It  would  require  the 
pencil  of  Martin,*  the  great  painter  of  enor- 
mities passed  away,  and  we  can  present  only 
a  weak  pen-picture  in  lieu  of  the  Apocalyptic 
depth  of  his  gloomy  style;  but  imagination 
may  supply  our  deficiencies.  Less  fortunate 
than  the  painter  and  the  musician,  we  can 
only  present  objects  and  ideas  separately  in 
slow  succession.  We  have  as  yet  spoken  of 
the  banquet-hall  only,  without  referring  to 
the  guests,  and  yet  we  have  but  barely 
indicated  its  character.  Cleopatra  and 
Meiamoun  are  waiting  for  us.  We  see  them 
drawing  near.   .   .   . 

Meiamoun  was  clad  in  a  linen  tunic  con- 
stellated with  stars,   and  a  purple   mantle, 

*  John  Martin,  the  English  painter,  whose  crea- 
tions were  unparalleled  in  breadth  and  depth  of 
composition.  His  pictures  seem  to  have  made  a 
powerful  impression  upon  the  highly  imaginative 
author  of  these  Romances.  There  is  something  in 
these  descriptions  of  antique  architecture  that  sug- 
gests the  influence  of  such  pictured  fantasies  as  Mar- 
tin's "  Seventh  Plague  ;  "  "  The  Heavenly  City  ;  "  and 
perhaps,  especially,  the  famous  "  Pandemonium," 
with  its  infernal  splendor,  in  Martin's  illustrations 
to  "  Paradise  Lost." — [Trans. 


70  ONE  OF  CLEOPATRA  S   NIGHTS 

and  wore  a  fillet  about  his  locks,  like  an 
Oriental  king.  Cleopatra  was  apparelled  in 
a  robe  of  pale  green,  open  at  either  side,  and 
clasped  with  golden  bees.  Two  bracelets  of 
immense  pearls  gleamed  around  her  naked 
arms;  upon  her  head  glimmered  the  golden- 
pointed  diadem.  Despite  the  smile  on  her 
lips,  a  slight  cloud  of  preoccupation  shad- 
owed her  fair  forehead,  and  from  time  to 
time  her  brows  became  knitted  in  a  feverish 
manner.  What  thoughts  could  trouble  the 
great  queen  ?  As  for  Meïamoun,  his  face 
wore  the  ardent  and  luminous  look  of  one  in 
ecstasy  or  vision  ;  light  beamed  and  radiated 
from  his  brow  and  temples,  surrounding  his 
head  with  a  golden  nimbus,  like  one  of  the 
twelve  great  gods  of  Olympus. 

A  deep,  heartfelt  joy  illumined  his  every 
feature.  He  had  embraced  his  restless- 
winged  chimera,  and  it  had  not  flown  from 
him  ;  he  had  reached  the  goal  of  his  life. 
Though  he  were  to  live  to  the  age  of  Nes- 
tor or  Priam,  though  he  should  behold  his 
veined  temples  hoary  with  locks  whiter  than 
those  of  the  high  priest  of  Ammon,  he  could 
never  know  another  new  experience,  never 


ONE  OF   CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS  7 1 

feel  another  new  pleasure.  His  maddest 
hopes  had  been  so  much  more  than  realized 
that  there  was  nothing  in  the  world  left  for 
him  to  desire. 

Cleopatra  seated  him  beside  her  upon  a 
throne  with  golden  griffins  on  either  side, 
and  clapped  her  little  hands  together.  In- 
stantly lines  of  fire,  bands  of  sparkling  light, 
outlined  all  the  projections  of  the  architec- 
ture— the  eyes  of  the  sphinxes  flamed  with 
phosphoric  lightnings;  the  bull-headed  idols 
breathed  flame;  the  elephants,  in  lieu  of 
perfumed  water,  spouted  aloft  bright  col- 
umns of  crimson  fire;  arms  of  bronze,  each 
bearing  a  torch,  started  from  the  walls,  and 
blazing  aigrettes  bloomed  in  the  sculptured 
hearts  of  the  lotos  flowers. 

Huge  blue  flames  palpitated  in  tripods  of 
brass;  giant  candelabras  shook  their  dishev- 
elled light  in  the  midst  of  ardent  vapors; 
everything  sparkled,  glittered,  beamed. 
Prismatic  irises  crossed  and  shattered  each 
other  in  the  air.  The  facets  of  the  cups, 
the  angles  of  the  marbles  and  jaspers,  the 
chiselling  of  the  vases — all  caught  a  sparkle, 
a  gleam,  or  a  flash  as  of  lightning.     Radi- 


72  ONE   OF  CLEOPATRA  S   NIGHTS 

ance  streamed  in  torrents  and  leaped  from 
step  to  step  like  a  cascade,  over  the  porphyry 
stairways.  It  seemed  the  reflection  of  a 
conflagration  on  some  broad  river.  Had 
the  Queen  of  Sheba  ascended  thither  she 
would  have  caught  up  the  folds  of  her  robe, 
and  believed  herself  walking  in  Avater,  as 
when  she  stepped  upon  the  crystal  pave- 
ments of  Solomon.  Viewed  through  that 
burning  haze,  the  monstrous  figures  of  the 
colossi,  the  animals,  the  hieroglyphics, 
seemed  to  become  animated  and  to  live  with 
a  factitious  life;  the  black  marble  rams 
bleated  ironically,  and  clashed  their  gilded 
horns;  the  idols  breathed  harshly  through 
their  panting  nostrils. 

The  orgie  was  at  its  height  :  the  dishes  of 
phenicopters'  tongues,  and  the  livers  of 
scarus  fish;  the  eels  fattened  upon  human 
flesh,  and  cooked  in  brine;  the  dishes  of 
peacock's  brains;  the  boars  stuffed  with  liv- 
ing birds  ;  and  all  the  marvels  of  the  antique 
banquets  were  heaped  upon  the  three  table- 
surfaces  of  the  gigantic  triclinium.  The 
wines  of  Crete,  of  Massicus,  and  of  Falernus 
foamed  up  in  cratera  wreathed  with  roses. 


ONE  OF  CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS  J^ 

and  filled  by  Asiatic  pages  whose  beautiful 
flowing  hair  served  the  guests  to  wipe  their 
hands  upon.  Musicians  playing  upon  the 
sistrum,  the  tympanum,  the  sambuke,  and 
the  harp  with  one-and-twenty  strings  filled 
all  the  upper  galleries,  and  mingled  their 
harmonies  with  the  tempest  of  sound  that 
hovered  over  the  feast.  Even  the  deep- 
voiced  thunder  could  not  have  made  itself 
heard  there. 

Meiamoun,  whose  head  was  lying  on  Cleo- 
patra's shoulder,  felt  as  though  his  reason 
were  leaving  him.  The  banquet-hall  whirled 
around  him  like  a  vast  architectural  night- 
mare ;  through  the  dizzy  glare  he  beheld  per- 
spectives and  colonnades  without  end  ;  new 
zones  of  porticoes  seemed  to  uprear  them- 
selves upon  the  real  fabric,  and  bury  their 
summits  in  heights  of  sky  to  which  Babel 
never  rose.  Had  he  not  felt  within  his  hand 
the  soft,  cool  hand  of  Cleopatra,  he  would 
have  believed  himself  transported  into  an 
enchanted  world  by  some  witch  of  Thessaly 
or  Magian  of  Persia. 

Toward  the  close  of  the  repast  humpr 
backed   dwarfs   and    mummers   engaged  in 


74  ONE  OF  CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS 

grotesque  dances  and  combats  ;  then  young 
Egyptian  and  Greek  maidens,  representing 
the  black  and  white  Hours,  danced  with  in- 
imitable grace  a  voluptuous  dance  after  the 
Ionian  manner. 

Cleopatra  herself  arose  from  her  throne, 
threw  aside  her  royal  mantle,  replaced  her 
starry  diadem  with  a  garland  of  flowers, 
attached  golden  crotali"^  to  her  alabaster 
hands,  and  began  to  dance  before  Meïamoun, 
who  was  ravished  with  delight.  Her  beau- 
tiful arms,  rounded  like  the  handles  of  an 
alabaster  vase,  shook  out  bunches  of  spark- 
ling notes,  and  her  crotali  prattled  with 
ever-increasing  volubility.  Poised  on  the 
pink  tips  of  her  little  feet,  she  approached 
swiftly  to  graze  the  forehead  of  Meïamoun 
with  a  kiss  ;  then  she  recommenced  her  won- 
drous art,  and  flitted  around  him,  now  back- 
ward-leaning, with  head  reversed,  eyes  half 
closed,  arms  lifelessly  relaxed,  locks  un- 
curled and  loose-hanging  like  a  Bacchante 
of  Mount  Maenalus;  now  again,  active,  ani- 
mated, laughing,  fluttering,  more  tireless 
and  capricious  in  her  movements  than  the 
*  Antique  castanets. —  [Trans. 


ONE   OF   CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS  75 

pilfering  bee.  Heart-consuming  love,  sen- 
sual pleasure,  burning  passion,  youth  inex- 
haustible and  ever-fresh,  the  promise  of  bliss 
to  come — she  expressed  all.   .   .   . 

The  modest  stars  had  ceased  to  contem- 
plate the  scene  ;  their  golden  eyes  could  not 
endure  such  a  spectacle;  the  heaven  itself 
was  blotted  out,  and  a  dome  of  flaming 
vapor  covered  the  hall. 

Cleopatra  seated  herself  once  more  by 
Meïamoun.  Night  advanced;  the  last  of 
the  black  Hours  was  about  to  take  flight; 
a  faint  blue  glow  entered  with  bewildered 
aspect  into  the  tumult  of  ruddy  light  as  a 
moonbeam  falls  into  a  furnace;  the  upper 
arcades  became  suffused  with  pale  azure 
tints — day  was  breaking. 

Meïamoun  took  the  horn  vase  which  an 
Ethiopian  slave  of  sinister  countenance  pre- 
sented to  him,  and  which  contained  a  poison 
so  violent  that  it  would  have  caused  any 
other  vase  to  burst  asunder.  Flinging  his 
whole  life  to  his  mistress  in  one  last  look, 
he  lifted  to  his  lips  the  fatal  cup  in  which 
the  envenomed  liquor  boiled  up,  hissing. 

Cleopatra  turned  pale,  and  laid  her  hand 


76  ONE  OF   CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS 

on  Me'iamoun's  arm  to  stay  the  act.  His 
courage  touched  her.  She  was  about  to 
say/*  Live  to  love  me  yet,  I  desire  it!  .  .  ." 
when  the  sound  of  a  clarion  was  heard.  Four 
heralds-at-arms  entered  the  banquet-hall  on 
horseback  ;  they  were  officers  of  Mark  An- 
tony, and  rode  but  a  short  distance  in  ad- 
vance of  their  master.  Cleopatra  silently 
loosened  the  arm  of  Meïamoun.  A  long 
ray  of  sunlight  suddenly  played  upon  her 
forehead,  as  though  trying  to  replace  her 
absent  diadem. 

**  You  see  the  moment  has  come;  it  is 
daybreak,  it  is  the  hour  when  happy  dreams 
take  flight,"  said  Meïamoun.  Then  he 
emptied  the  fatal  vessel  at  a  draught,  and 
fell  as  though  struck  by  lightning.  Cleo- 
patra bent  her  head,  and  one  burning  tear — 
the  only  one  she  had  ever  shed — fell  into 
her  cup  to  mingle  with  the  molten  pearl. 

"By  Hercules,  my  fair  queen!  I  made 
all  speed  in  vain.  I  see  I  have  come  too 
late,"  cried  Mark  Antony,  entering  the  ban- 
quet-hall, "  the  supper  is  over.  But  what 
signifies  this  corpse  upon  the  pavement  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing!  "  returned  Cleopatra,  with 


ONE  OF  CLEOPATRA'S   NIGHTS  ^^ 

a  smile;  "  only  a  poison  I  was  testing  with 
the  idea  of  using  it  upon  myself  should  Au- 
gustus take  me  prisoner.  My  dear  Lord, 
will  you  not  please  to  take  a  seat  beside  me, 
and  watch  those  Greek  buffoons  dance  ?  " 


Clarimonde 


CLAlilMONBE 


Brother,  you  ask  me  if  I  have  ever 
loved.  Yes.  My  story  is  a  strange  and  ter- 
rible one  ;  and  though  I  am  sixty-six  years 
of  age,  I  scarcely  dare  even  now  to  disturb  the 
ashes  of  that  memory.  To  you  I  can  refuse 
nothing;  but  I  should  not  relate  such  a  tale 
to  any  less  experienced  mind.  So  strange 
were  the  circumstances  of  my  story,  that  I 
can  scarcely  believe  myself  to  have  ever 
actually  been  a  party  to  them.  For  more 
than  three  years  I  remained  the  victim  of  a 
most  singular  and  diabolical  illusion.  Poor 
country  priest  though  I  was,  I  led  every  night 
in  a  dream — would  to  God  it  had  been  all  a 
dream  ! — a  most  worldly  life,  a  damning  life, 
a  life  of  Sardanapalus.     One  single  look  too 

*  ♦'  La  Morte  Amoureuse'' 


82  CLARIMONDE 

freely  cast  upon  a  woman  well-nigh  caused 
me  to  lose  my  soul  ;  but  finally  by  the  grace 
of  God  and  the  assistance  of  my  patron 
saint,  I  succeeded  in  casting  out  the  evil 
spirit  that  possessed  me.  My  daily  life  was 
long  interwoven  with  a  nocturnal  life  of  a 
totally  different  character.  By  day  I  was  a 
priest  of  the  Lord,  occupied  with  prayer  and 
sacred  things;  by  night,  from  the  instant 
that  I  closed  my  eyes  I  became  a  young 
nobleman,  a  fine  connoisseur  in  women, 
dogs,  and  horses;  gambling,  drinking,  and 
blaspheming,  and  when  I  awoke  at  early 
daybreak,  it  seemed  to  me,  on  the  other 
hand,  that  I  had  been  sleeping,  and  had 
only  dreamed  that  I  was  a  priest.  Of  this 
somnambulistic  life  there  now  remains  to 
me  only  the  recollection  of  certain  scenes 
and  words  which  I  cannot  banish  from  my 
memory;  but  although  I  never  actually  left 
the  walls  of  my  presbytery,  one  would  think 
to  hear  me  speak  that  I  were  a  man  who, 
weary  of  all  worldly  pleasures,  had  become 
a  religious,  seeking  to  end  a  tempestuous 
life  in  the  service  of  God,  rather  than  an 
humble  seminarist  who   has   grown    old  in 


CLARIMONDE  83 

this  obscure  curacy,  situated  in  the  depths 
of  the  woods  and  even  isolated  from  the  life 
of  the  century. 

Yes,  I  have  loved  as  none  in  the  world 
ever  loved — with  an  insensate  and  furious 
passion — so  violent  that  I  am  astonished  it 
did  not  cause  my  heart  to  burst  asunder. 
Ah,  what  nights — what  nights! 

From  my  earliest  childhood  I  had  felt  a 
vocation  to  the  priesthood,  so  that  all  my 
studies  were  directed  with  that  idea  in  view. 
Up  to  the  age  of  twenty-four  my  life  had 
been  only  a  prolonged  novitiate.  Having 
completed  my  course  of  theology  I  succes- 
sively received  all  the  minor  orders,  and  my 
superiors  judged  me  worthy,  despite  my 
youth,  to  pass  the  last  awful  degree.  My 
ordination  was  fixed  for  Easter  week. 

I  had  never  gone  into  the  world.  My 
world  was  confined  by  the  walls  of  the  col- 
lege and  the  seminary.  I  knew  in  a  vague 
sort  of  a  way  that  there  was  something 
called  Woman,  but  I  never  permitted  my 
thoughts  to  dwell  on  such  a  subject,  and  I 
lived  in  a  state  of  perfect  innocence.  Twice  a 
year  only  I  saw  my  infirm  and  aged  mother, 


84  CLARIMONDE 

and  in  those  visits  were  comprised  my  sole 
relations  with  the  outer  world. 

I  regretted  nothing;  I  felt  not  the  least 
hesitation  at  taking  the  last  irrevocable  step  ; 
I  was  filled  with  joy  and  impatience.  Never 
did  a  betrothed  lover  count  the  slow  hours 
with  more  feverish  ardor;  I  slept  only  to 
dream  that  I  was  saying  mass;  I  believed 
there  could  be  nothing  in  the  world  more 
delightful  than  to  be  a  priest;  I  would  have 
refused  to  be  a  king  or  a  poet  in  preference. 
My  ambition  could  conceive  of  no  loftier 
aim. 

I  tell  you  this  in  order  to  show  you  that 
what  happened  to  me  could  not  have  hap- 
pened in  the  natural  order  of  things,  and  to 
enable  you  to  understand  that  I  was  the  vic- 
tim of  an  inexplicable  fascination. 

At  last  the  great  day  came.  I  walked  to 
the  church  with  a  step  so  light  that  I  fan- 
cied myself  sustained  in  air,  or  that  I  had 
wings  upon  my  shoulders.  I  believed  myself 
an  angel,  and  wondered  at  the  sombre  and 
thoughtful  faces  of  my  companions,  for  there 
were  several  of  us.  I  had  passed  all  the 
night  in  prayer,  and  was  in  a  condition  well- 


CLARIMONDE  85 

nigh  bordering  on  ecstasy.  The  bishop,  a 
venerable  old  man,  seemed  to  me  God  the 
Father  leaning  over  his  Eternity,  and  I 
beheld  Heaven  through  the  vault  of  the 
temple. 

You  well  know  the  details  of  that  cere- 
mony — the  benediction,  the  communion  un- 
der both  forms,  the  anointing  of  the  palms 
of  the  hands  with  the  Oil  of  Catechumens, 
and  then  the  holy  sacrifice  offered  in  concert 
with  the  bishop. 

Ah,  truly  spake  Job  when  he  declared 
that  the  imprudent  man  is  one  who  hath 
not  made  a  covenant  with  his  eyes  !  I  acci- 
dentally lifted  my  head,  which  until  then  I 
had  kept  down,  and  beheld  before  me,  so 
close  that  it  seemed  that  I  could  have 
touched  her — although  she  was  actually  a 
considerable  distance  from  me  and  on  the 
further  side  of  the  sanctuary  railing — a  young 
woman  of  extraordinary  beauty,  and  attired 
with  royal  magnificence.  It  seemed  as 
though  scales  had  suddenly  fallen  from  my 
eyes.  I  felt  like  a  blind  man  who  unex- 
pectedly recovers  his  sight.  The  bishop,  so 
radiantly  glorious  but  an  instant  before,  sud- 


86  CLARIMONDE 

denly  vanished  away,  the  tapers  paled  upon 
their  golden  candlesticks  like  stars  in  the 
dawn,  and  a  vast  darkness  seemed  to  fill  the 
whole  church.  The  charming  creature  ap- 
peared in  bright  relief  against  the  back- 
ground of  that  darkness,  like  some  angelic 
revelation.  She  seemed  herself  radiant,  and 
radiating  light  rather  than  receiving  it. 

I  lowered  my  eyelids,  firmly  resolved  not 
to  again  open  them,  that  I  might  not  be  in- 
fluenced by  external  objects,  for  distraction 
had  gradually  taken  possession  of  me  until 
I  hardly  knew  what  I  was  doing. 

In  another  minute, nevertheless,  I  reopened 
my  eyes,  for  through  my  eyelashes  I  still 
beheld  her,  all  sparkling  with  prismatic  col- 
ors, and  surrounded  with  such  a  purple  pe- 
numbra as  one  beholds  in  gazing  at  the  sun. 

Oh,  how  beautiful  she  was!  The  great- 
est painters,  who  followed  ideal  beauty  into 
heaven  itself,  and  thence  brought  back  to 
earth  the  true  portrait  of  the  Madonna, 
never  in  their  delineations  even  approached 
that  wildly  beautiful  reality  which  I  saw 
before  me.  Neither  the  verses  of  the  poet 
nor  the  palette  of  the  artist  could  convey 


CLARIMONDE  8/ 

any  conception  of  her.  She  was  rather  tall, 
with  a  form  and  bearing  of  a  goddess.  Her 
hair,  of  a  soft  blonde  hue,  was  parted  in  the 
midst  and  flowed  back  over  her  temples  in 
two  rivers  of  rippling  gold;  she  seemed  a 
diademed  queen.  Her  forehead,  bluish- 
white  in  its  transparency,  extended  its  calm 
breadth  above  the  arches  of  her  eyebrows, 
which  by  a  strange  singularity  were  almost 
black,  and  admirably  relieved  the  effect  of 
sea-green  eyes  of  unsustainable  vivacity  and 
brilliancy.  What  eyes  !  With  a  single  flash 
they  could  have  decided  a  man's  destiny. 
They  had  a  life,  a  limpidity,  an  ardor,  a  hu- 
mid light  which  I  have  never  seen  in  human 
eyes  ;  they  shot  forth  rays  like  arrows,  which 
I  could  distinctly  see  enter  my  heart.  I 
know  not  if  the  fire  which  illumined  them 
came  from  heaven  or  from  hell,  but  as- 
suredly it  came  from  one  or  the  other.  That 
woman  was  either  an  angel  or  a  demon,  per- 
haps both.  Assuredly  she  never  sprang 
from  the  flank  of  Eve,  our  common  mother. 
Teeth  of  the  most  lustrous  pearl  gleamed  in 
her  ruddy  smile,  and  at  every  inflection  of 
her  lips  little  dimples  appeared  in  the  satiny 


88  CLARIMONDE 

rose  of  her  adorable  cheeks.  There  was  a 
delicacy  and  pride  in  the  regal  outline  of 
her  nostrils  bespeaking  noble  blood.  Agate 
gleams  played  over  the  smooth  lustrous 
skin  of  her  half-bare  shoulders,  and  strings 
of  great  blonde  pearls — almost  equal  to  her 
neck  in  beauty  of  color — descended  upon  her 
bosom.  From  time  to  time  she  elevated 
her  head  with  the  undulating  grace  of  a 
startled  serpent  or  peacock,  thereby  impart- 
ing a  quivering  motion  to  the  high  lace  rufï 
which  surrounded  it  like  a  silver  trellis-work. 

She  wore  a  robe  of  orange-red  velvet,  and 
from  her  wide  erm^ine-lined  sleeves  there 
peeped  forth  patrician  hands  of  infinite  deli- 
cacy, and  so  ideally  transparent  that,  like 
the  fingers  of  Aurora,  they  permitted  the 
light  to  shine  through  them. 

All  these  details  I  can  recollect  at  this 
moment  as  plainly  as  though  they  were  of 
yesterda}^  for  notwithstanding  I  was  greatly 
troubled  at  the  time,  nothing  escaped  me  ; 
the  faintest  touch  of  shading,  the  little  dark 
speck  at  the  point  of  the  chin,  the  imper- 
ceptible down  at  the  corners  of  the  lips,  the 
velvety  floss  upon  the  brow,  the  quivering 


CLARIMONDE  89 

shadows  of  the  eyelashes  upon  the  cheeks, 
I  could  notice  everything  with  astonishing 
lucidity  of  perception. 

And  gazing  I  felt  opening  within  me  gates 
that  had  until  then  remained  closed  ;  vents 
long  obstructed  became  all  clear,  permitting 
glimpses  of  unfamiliar  perspectives  within; 
life  suddenly  made  itself  visible  to  me  under 
a  totally  novel  aspect.  I  felt  as  though  I 
had  just  been  born  into  a  new  world  and  a 
new  order  of  things.  A  frightful  anguish 
commenced  to  torture  my  heart  as  with 
red-hot  pincers.  Every  successive  minute 
seemed  to  me  at  once  but  a  second  and  yet 
a  century.  Meanwhile  the  ceremony  was 
proceeding,  and  I  shortly  found  myself 
transported  far  from  that  world  of  which  my 
newly-born  desires  were  furiously  besieging 
the  entrance.  Nevertheless  I  answered 
"  Yes  "  when  I  wished  to  say  "  No,"  though 
all  within  me  protested  against  the  violence 
done  to  my  soul  by  my  tongue.  Some  oc- 
cult power  seemed  to  force  the  words  from 
my  throat  against  my  will.  Thus  it  is,  per- 
haps, that  so  many  young  girls  walk  to  the 
altar  firmly  resolved  to  refuse  in  a  startling 


90  CLARIMONDE 

manner  the  husband  imposed  upon  them, 
and  that  yet  not  one  ever  fulfils  her  inten- 
tion. Thus  it  is,  doubtless,  that  so  many 
poor  novices  take  the  veil,  though  they  have 
resolved  to  tear  it  into  shreds  at  the  moment 
when  called  upon  to  utter  the  vows.  One 
dares  not  thus  cause  so  great  a  scandal  to 
all  present,  nor  deceive  the  expectation  of 
so  many  people.  All  those  eyes,  all  those 
wills  seem  to  weigh  down  upon  you  like  a 
cope  of  lead;  and,  moreover,  measures  have 
been  so  well  taken,  everything  has  been  so 
thoroughly  arranged  beforehand  and  after  a 
fashion  so  evidently  irrevocable,  that  the 
will  yields  to  the  weight  of  circumstances 
and  utterly  breaks  down. 

As  the  ceremony  proceeded  the  features 
of  the  fair  unknown  changed  their  expres- 
sion. Her  look  had  at  first  been  one  of 
caressing  tenderness  ;  it  changed  to  an  air  of 
disdain  and  of  mortification,  as  though  at 
not  having  been  able  to  make  itself  under- 
stood. 

With  an  effort  of  will  sufificient  to  have 
uprooted  a  mountain,  I  strove  to  cry  out 
that  I  would  not  be  a  priest,  but  I  could 


CLARIMONDE  9I 

not  Speak;  my  tongue  seemed  nailed  to  my 
palate,  and  I  found  it  impossible  to  express 
my  will  by  the  least  syllable  of  negation. 
Though  fully  awake,  I  felt  like  one  under 
the  influence  of  a  nightmare,  who  vainly 
strives  to  shriek  out  the  one  word  upon 
which  life  depends. 

She  seemed  conscious  of  the  martyrdom  I 
was  undergoing,  and,  as  though  to  encour- 
age me,  she  gave  me  a  look  replete  with 
divinest  promise.  Her  eyes  were  a  poem  ; 
their  every  glance  was  a  song. 

She  said  to  me: 

**  If  thou  wilt  be  mine,  I  shall  make  thee 
happier  than  God  Himself  in  His  paradise. 
The  angels  themselves  will  be  jealous  of 
thee.  Tear  off  that  funeral  shroud  in  which 
thou  art  about  to  wrap  thyself.  I  am 
Beauty,  I  am  Youth,  I  am  Life.  Come  to 
me!  Together  we  shall  be  Love.  Can 
Jehovah  offer  thee  aught  in  exchange  ? 
Our  lives  will  flow  on  like  a  dream,  in  one 
eternal  kiss. 

'*  Fling  forth  the  wine  of  that  chalice,  and 
thou  art  free.  I  will  conduct  thee  to  the 
Unknown   Isles.     Thou   shalt   sleep    in  my 


92  CLARLMONDE 

bosom  upon  a  bed  of  massy  gold  under  a 
silver  pavilion,  for  I  love  thee  and  would 
take  thee  away  from  thy  God,  before  whom 
so  many  noble  hearts  pour  forth  floods  of 
love  which  never  reach  even  the  steps  of 
His  throne  !  " 

These  words  seemed  to  float  to  my  ears 
in  a  rhythm  of  infinite  sweetness,  for  her 
look  was  actually  sonorous,  and  the  utter- 
ances of  her  eyes  were  reechoed  in  the 
depths  of  my  heart  as  though  living  lips  had 
breathed  them  into  my  life.  I  felt  myself 
willing  to  renounce  God,  and  yet  my  tongue 
mechanically  fulfilled  all  the  formalities  of 
the  ceremony.  The  fair  one  gave  me  an- 
other look,  so  beseeching,  so  despairing  that 
keen  blades  seemed  to  pierce  my  heart,  and 
I  felt  my  bosom  transfixed  by  more  swords 
than  those  of  Our  Lady  of  Sorrows. 

All  was  consummated  ;  I  had  become  a 
priest. 

Never  was  deeper  anguish  painted  on 
human  face  than  upon  hers.  The  maiden 
who  beholds  her  aflianced  lover  suddenly 
fall  dead  at  her  side,  the  mother  bending 
over  the   empty  cradle   of   her   child,    Eve 


CLARIMONDE  93 

seated  at  the  threshold  of  the  gate  of  Para- 
dise, the  miser  who  finds  a  stone  substituted 
for  his  stolen  treasure,  the  poet  who  acci- 
dentally permits  the  only  manuscript  of  his 
finest  work  to  fall  into  the  fire,  could  not 
wear  a  look  so  despairing,  so  inconsolable. 
All  the  blood  had  abandoned  her  charming 
face,  leaving  it  whiter  than  marble;  her 
beautiful  arms  hung  lifelessly  on  either  side 
of  her  body  as  though  their  muscles  had 
suddenly  relaxed,  and  she  sought  the  sup- 
port of  a  pillar,  for  her  yielding  limbs  almost 
betrayed  her.  As  for  myself,  I  staggered 
toward  the  door  of  the  church,  livid  as  death, 
my  forehead  bathed  with  a  sweat  bloodier 
than  that  of  Calvary  ;  I  felt  as  though  I  were 
being  strangled;  the  vault  seemed  to  have 
flattened  down  upon  my  shoulders,  and  it 
seemed  to  me  that  my  head  alone  sustained 
the  whole  weight  of  the  dome. 

As  I  was  about  to  cross  the  threshold  a 
hand  suddenly  caught  mine — a  woman's 
hand  !  I  had  never  till  then  touched  the 
hand  of  any  woman.  It  was  cold  as  a  ser- 
pent's skin,  and  yet  its  impress  remained 
upon    my    wrist,    burnt    there    as    though 


94  CLARIMONDE 

branded  by  a  glowing  iron.  It  was  she. 
"Unhappy  man!  Unhappy  man!  What 
hast  thou  done?"  she  exclaimed  in  a  low 
voice,  and  immediately  disappeared  in  the 
crowd. 

The  aged  bishop  passed  by.  He  cast  a 
severe  and  scrutinizing  look  upon  me.  My 
face  presented  the  wildest  aspect  imagin- 
able; I  blushed  and  turned  pale  alternately; 
dazzling  lights  flashed  before  my  eyes.  A 
companion  took  pity  on  me.  He  seized  my 
arm  and  led  me  out.  I  could  not  possibly 
have  found  my  way  back  to  the  seminary 
unassisted.  At  the  corner  of  a  street,  while 
the  young  priest's  attention  was  momen- 
tarily turned  in  another  direction,  a  negro 
page,  fantastically  garbed,  approached  me, 
and  without  pausing  on  his  way  slipped  into 
my  hand  a  little  pocket-book  with  gold-em- 
broidered corners,  at  the  same  time  giving 
me  a  sign  to  hide  it.  I  concealed  it  in  my 
sleeve,  and  there  kept  it  until  I  found  my- 
self alone  in  my  cell.  Then  I  opened  the 
clasp.  There  were  only  two  leaves  within, 
bearing  the  words,  **  Clarimonde.  At  the 
Concini  Palace."     So  little  acquainted  was 


CLARIMONDE  95 

I  at  that  time  with  the  things  of  this  world 
that  I  had  never  heard  of  Clarimonde,  cele- 
brated as  she  was,  and  I  had  no  idea  as  to 
where  the  Concini  Palace  was  situated.  I 
hazarded  a  thousand  conjectures,  each  more 
extravagant  than  the  last;  but,  in  truth,  I 
cared  little  whether  she  were  a  great  lady  or 
a  courtesan,  so  that  I  could  but  see  her  once 
more. 

My  love,  although  the  growth  of  a  single 
hour,  had  taken  imperishable  root.  I  did 
not  even  dream  of  attempting  to  tear  it  up, 
so  fully  was  I  convinced  such  a  thing  would 
be  impossible.  That  woman  had  completely 
taken  possession  of  me.  One  look  from  her 
had  sufficed  to  change  my  very  nature.  She 
had  breathed  her  will  into  my  life,  and  I  no 
longer  lived  in  myself,  but  in  her  and  for 
her.  I  gave  myself  up  to  a  thousand  ex- 
travagancies. I  kissed  the  place  upon  my 
hand  which  she  had  touched,  and  I  repeated 
her  name  over  and  over  again  for  hours  in 
succession.  I  only  needed  to  close  my  eyes 
in  order  to  see  her  distinctly  as  though  she 
were  actually  present;  and  I  reiterated  to 
myself  the  words  she  had  uttered  in  my  ear 


96  CLARIMONDE 

at  the  church  porch  :  "  Unhappy  man  !  Un- 
happy man!  What  hast  thou  done?"  I 
comprehended  at  last  the  full  horror  of  my 
situation,  and  the  funereal  and  awful  re- 
straints of  the  state  into  which  I  had  just 
entered  became  clearly  revealed  to  me.  To 
be  a  priest  ! — that  is,  to  be  chaste,  to  never 
love,  to  observe  no  distinction  of  sex  or  age, 
to  turn  from  the  sight  of  all  beauty,  to  put 
out  one's  own  eyes,  to  hide  forever  crouch- 
ing in  the  chill  shadows  of  some  church  or 
cloister,  to  visit  none  but  the  dying,  to 
watch  by  unknown  corpses,  and  ever  bear 
about  with  one  the  black  soutane  as  a  garb 
of  mourning  for  one's  self,  so  that  your  very 
dress  might  serve  as  a  pall  for  your  coffin. 

And  I  felt  life  rising  within  me  like  a  sub- 
terranean lake,  expanding  and  overflowing; 
my  blood  leaped  fiercely  through  my  ar- 
teries ;  my  long-restrained  youth  suddenly 
burst  into  active  being,  like  the  aloe  which 
blooms  but  once  in  a  hundred  years,  and 
then  bursts  into  blossom  with  a  clap  of 
thunder. 

What  could  I  do  in  order  to  see  Clari- 
monde  once   more  ?     I   had  no  pretext  to 


CLARIMONDE  97 

offer  for  desiring  to  leave  the  seminary,  not 
knowing  any  person  in  the  city.  I  would 
not  even  be  able  to  remain  there  but  a  short 
time,  and  was  only  waiting  my  assignment 
to  the  curacy  which  I  must  thereafter  oc- 
cupy. I  tried  to  remove  the  bars  of  the 
window  ;  but  it  was  at  a  fearful  height  from 
the  ground,  and  I  found  that  as  I  had  no 
ladder  it  would  be  useless  to  think  of  escap- 
ing thus.  And,  furthermore,  I  could  de- 
scend thence  only  by  night  in  any  event, 
and  afterward  how  should  I  be  able  to  find 
my  way  through  the  inextricable  labyrinth 
of  streets  ?  All  these  difficulties,  which  to 
many  would  have  appeared  altogether  insig- 
nificant, were  gigantic  to  me,  a  poor  semi- 
narist who  had  fallen  in  love  only  the  day 
before  for  the  first  time,  without  experience, 
without  money,  without  attire. 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  I  to  myself  in  my  blindness, 
**  were  I  not  a  priest  I  could  have  seen  her 
every  day;  I  might  have  been  her  lover,  her 
spouse.  Instead  of  being  wrapped  in  this 
dismal  shroud  of  mine  I  would  have  had  gar- 
ments of  silk  and  velvet,  golden  chains,  a 
sword,  and  fair  plumes  like  other  handsome 
3 


98  CLARIMONDE 

young  cavaliers.  My  hair,  instead  of  being 
dishonored  by  the  tonsure,  would  flow  down 
upon  my  neck  in  waving  curls;  I  would  have 
a  fine  waxed  mustache;  I  would  be  a  gal- 
lant." But  one  hour  passed  before  an  altar, 
a  few  hastily  articulated  words,  had  forever 
cut  me  off  from  the  number  of  the  living, 
and  I  had  myself  sealed  down  the  stone  of 
my  own  tomb;  I  had  with  my  own  hand 
bolted  the  gate  of  my  prison  ! 
■  I  went  to  the  window.  The  sky  was 
beautifully  blue;  the  trees  had  donned  their 
spring  robes;  nature  seemed  to  be  making 
parade  of  an  ironical  joy.  The  Place  was 
filled  with  people,  some  going,  others  com- 
ing; young  beaux  and  young  beauties  were 
sauntering  in  couples  toward  the  groves  and 
gardens;  merry  youths  passed  by,  cheerily 
trolling  refrains  of  drinking  songs — it  was 
all  a  picture  of  vivacity,  life,  animation, 
gayety,  which  formed  a  bitter  contrast  with 
my  mourning  and  my  solitude.  On  the 
steps  of  the  gate  sat  a  young  mother  playing 
with  her  child.  She  kissed  its  little  rosy 
mouth  still  impearled  with  drops  of  milk, 
and  performed,  in  order  to  amuse  it,  a  thou- 


CLARIMONDE  99 

sand  divine  little  puerilities  such  as  only 
mothers  know  how  to  invent.  The  father 
standing  at  a  little  distance  smiled  gently 
upon  the  charming  group,  and  with  folded 
arms  seemed  to  hug  his  joy  to  his  heart.  I 
could  not  endure  that  spectacle.  I  closed 
the  window  with  violence,  and  flung  myself 
on  my  bed,  my  heart  filled  with  frightful 
hate  and  jealousy,  and  gnawed  my  fingers 
and  my  bedcovers  like  a  tiger  that  has  passed 
ten  days  without  food. 

I  know  not  how  long  I  remained  in  this 
condition,  but  at  last,  while  writhing  on  the 
bed  in  a  fit  of  spasmodic  fury,  I  suddenly 
perceived  the  Abbé  Sérapion,  who  was  stand- 
ing erect  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  watching 
me  attentively.  Filled  with  shame  of  my- 
self, I  let  my  head  fall  upon  my  breast  and 
covered  my  face  with  my  hands. 

''  Romuald,  my  friend,  something  very  ex- 
traordinary is  transpiring  within  you,"  ob- 
served Sérapion,  after  a  few  moments* 
ç.Uence;  "your  conduct  is  altogether  inex- 
plicable. You — always  so  quiet,  so  pious, 
so  gentle — you  to  rage  in  your  cell  like  a 
wild    beast!     Take   heed,    brother — do    not 


lOO  CLARIMONDE 

listen  to  the  suggestions  of  the  devil.  The 
Evil  Spirit,  furious  that  you  have  conse- 
crated yourself  forever  to  the  Lord,  is  prowl- 
ing around  you  like  a  ravening  wolf  and 
making  a  last  effort  to  obtain  possession  of 
you.  Instead  of  allowing  yourself  to  be 
conquered,  my  dear  Romuald,  make  to  your- 
self a  cuirass  of  prayers,  a  buckler  of  morti- 
fications, and  combat  the  enemy  like  a  val- 
iant man  ;  you  will  then  assuredly  overcome 
him.  Virtue  must  be  proved  by  tempta- 
tion, and  gold  comes  forth  purer  from  the 
hands  of  the  assayer.  Fear  not.  Never 
allow  yourself  to  become  discouraged.  The 
most  watchful  and  steadfast  souls  are  at  mo- 
ments liable  to  such  temptation.  Pray,  fast, 
meditate,  and  the  Evil  Spirit  will  depart 
from  you." 
-^^The  words  of  the  Abbé  Sérapion  restored 
me  to  myself,  and  I  became  a  little  more 
calm.  **  I  came,"  he  continued,  "  to  tell 
you  that  you  have  been  appointed  to  the 

curacy  of  C .     The  priest  who  had  charge 

of  it  has  just  died,  and  Monseigneur  the 
Bishop  has  ordered  me  to  have  you  installed 
there  at  once.     Be  ready,  therefore,  to  start 


CLARIMONDE  lOI 

to-morrow."  I  responded  with  an  inclina- 
tion of  the  head,  and  the  Abbé  retired.  I 
opened  my  missal  and  commenced  reading 
some  prayers,  but  the  letters  became  con- 
fused and  blurred  under  my  eyes,  the  thread 
of  the  ideas  entangled  itself  hopelessly  in 
my  brain,  and  the  volume  at  last  fell  from 
my  hands  without  my  being  aware  of  it. 

To  leave  to-morrow  without  having  been 
able  to  see  her  again,  to  add  yet  another 
barrier  to  the  many  already  interposed  be- 
tween us,  to  lose  forever  all  hope  of  being 
able  to  meet  her,  except,  indeed,  through  a 
miracle  !  Even  to  write  her,  alas  !  would  be 
impossible,  for  by  whom  could  I  despatch 
my  letter  ?  With  my  sacred  character  of 
priest,  to  whom  could  I  dare  unbosom  my- 
self, in  whom  could  I  confide  ?  I  became  a 
prey  to  the  bitterest  anxiety. 

Then  suddenly  recurred  to  me  the  words 
of  the  Abbé  Sérapion  regarding  the  artifices 
of  the  devil;  and  the  strange  character  of 
the  adventure,  the  supernatural  beauty  of 
Clarimonde,  the  phosphoric  light  of  her  eyes, 
the  burning  imprint  of  her  hand,  the  agony 
into  which  she  had  thrown  me,  the  sudden 


I02  CLARIMONDE 

change  wrought  within  me  when  all  my  piety 
vanished  in  a  single  instant — these  and  other 
things  clearly  testified  to  the  work  of  the 
Evil  One,  and  perhaps  that  satiny  hand  was 
but  the  glove  which  concealed  his  claws. 
Filled  with  terror  at  these  fancies,  I  again 
picked  up  the  missal  which  had  slipped  from 
my  knees  and  fallen  upon  the  floor,  and 
once  more  gave  myself  up  to  prayer. 
^•f^î-^Next  morning  Sérapion  came  to  take  me 
away.  Two  mules  freighted  with  our  mis- 
erable valises  awaited  us  at  the  gate.  He 
mounted  one,  and  I  the  other  as  well  as  I 
knew  how. 

As  we  passed  along  the  streets  of  the  city, 
I  gazed  attentively  at  all  the  windows  and 
balconies  in  the  hope  of  seeing  Clarimonde, 
but  it  was  yet  early  in  the  morning,  and  the 
city  had  hardly  opened  its  eyes.  Mine 
sought  to  penetrate  the  blinds  and  window- 
curtains  of  all  the  palaces  before  which  we 
were  passing.  Sérapion  doubtless  attributed 
this  curiosity  to  my  admiration  of  the  archi- 
tecture, for  he  slackened  the  pace  of  his  ani- 
mal in  order  to  give  me  time  to  look  around 
me.     At  last  we  passed  the  city  gates  and 


CLARIMONDE  I03 

commenced  to  mount  the  hill  beyond. 
When  we  arrived  at  its  summit  I  turned  to 
take  a  last  look  at  the  place  where  Clari- 
monde  dwelt.  The  shadow  of  a  great  cloud 
hung  over  all  the  city  ;  the  contrasting  colors 
of  its  blue  and  red  roofs  were  lost  in  the  uni- 
form half-tint,  through  which  here  and  there 
floated  upward,  like  white  flakes  of  foam, 
the  smoke  of  freshly  kindled  fires.  By  a 
singular  optical  effect  one  edifice,  which  sur- 
passed in  height  all  the  neighboring  build- 
ings that  were  still  dimly  veiled  by  the 
vapors,  towered  up,  fair  and  lustrous  with 
the  gilding  of  a  solitary  beam  of  sunlight — 
although  actually  more  than  a  league  away 
it  seemed  quite  near.  The  smallest  details 
of  its  architecture  were  plainly  distinguish- 
able— the  turrets,  the  platforms,  the  win- 
dow-casements, and  even  the  swallow-tailed 
weather  vanes. 

"  What  is  that  palace  I  see  over  there,  all 
lighted  up  by  the  sun  ?"  I  asked  Sérapion. 
He  shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hand,  and  hav- 
ing looked  in  the  direction  indicated,  re- 
plied: "It  is  the  ancient  palace  which  the 
Prince    Concini   has   given    to    the   courte- 


I04  CLARIMONDE 

San  Clarimonde.  Awful  things  are  done 
there!" 

At  that  instant,  I  know  not  yet  whether 
it  was  a  reality  or  an  illusion,  I  fancied  I 
saw  gliding  along  the  terrace  a  shapely  white 
figure,  which  gleamed  for  a  moment  in  pass- 
ing and  as  quickly  vanished.  It  was  Clari- 
monde. 

"■"^•*Oh,  did  she  know  that  at  that  very  hour, 
all  feverish  and  restless — from  the  height  of 
the  rugged  road  which  separated  me  from 
her  and  which,  alas  !  I  could  never  more  de- 
scend— I  was  directing  my  eyes  upon  the 
palace  where  she  dwelt,  and  which  a  mock- 
ing beam  of  sunlight  seemed  to  bring  nigh 
to  me,  as  though  inviting  me  to  enter  therein 
as  its  lord  ?  Undoubtedly  she  must  have 
known  it,  for  her  soul  was  too  sympatheti- 
cally united  with  mine  not  to  have  felt  its 
least  emotional  thrill,  and  that  subtle  sym- 
pathy it  must  have  been  which  prompted 
her  to  climb — although  clad  only  in  her 
night-dress — to  the  summit  of  the  terrace, 
amid  the  icy  dews  of  the  morning. 

The  shadow  gained  the  palace,  and  the 
scene  became  to  the  eye  only  a  motionless 


CLARIMONDE  I05 

ocean  of  roofs  and  gables,  amid  which  one 
mountainous  undulation  was  distinctly  visi- 
ble. Sérapion  urged  his  mule  forward,  my 
own  at  once  followed  at  the  same  gait,  and 
a  sharp  angle  in  the  road  at  last  hid  the  city 
of  S forever  from  my  eyes,  as  I  was  des- 
tined never  to  return  thither.  At  the  close 
of  a  weary  three-days'  journey  through  dis- 
mal country  fields,  we  caught  sight  of  the 
cock  upon  the  steeple  of  the  church  which 
I  was  to  take  charge  of,  peeping  above  the 
trees,  and  after  having  follov/ed  some  wind- 
ing roads  fringed  with  thatched  cottages  and 
little  gardens,  we  found  ourselves  in  front 
of  the  façade,  which  certainly  possessed  few 
features  of  magnificence.  A  porch  orna- 
mented with  some  mouldings,  and  two  or 
three  pillars  rudely  hewn  from  sandstone; 
a  tiled  roof  with  counterforts  of  the  same 
sandstone  as  the  pillars,  that  was  all.  To 
the  left  lay  the  cemetery,  overgrown  with 
high  weeds,  and  having  a  great  iron  cross 
rising  up  in  its  centre;  to  the  right  stood 
the  presbytery,  under  the  shadow  of  the 
church.  It  was  a  house  of  the  most  extreme 
simplicity  and   frigid    cleanliness.     We  en- 


Io6  CLARIMONDE 

tered  the  enclosure.  A  few  chickens  were 
picking  up  some  oats  scattered  upon  the 
ground  ;  accustomed,  seemingly,  to  the 
black  habit  of  ecclesiastics,  they  showed  no 
fear  of  our  presence  and  scarcely  troubled 
themselves  to  get  out  of  our  way.  A  hoarse, 
wheezy  barking  fell  upon  our  ears,  and  we 
saw  an  aged  dog  running  toward  us. 

It  was  my  predecessor's  dog.  He  had 
dull  bleared  eyes,  grizzled  hair,  and  every 
mark  of  the  greatest  age  to  which  a  dog  can 
possibly  attain.  I  patted  him  gently,  and 
he  proceeded  at  once  to  march  along  beside 
me  with  an  air  of  satisfaction  unspeakable. 
A  very  old  woman,  who  had  been  the  house- 
keeper of  the  former  curé,  also  came  to  meet 
us,  and  after  having  invited  me  into  a  little 
back  parlor,  asked  whether  I  intended  to 
retain  her.  I  replied  that  I  would  take  care 
of  her,  and  the  dog,  and  the  chickens,  and 
all  the  furniture  her  master  had  bequeathed 
her  at  his  death.  At  this  she  became  fairly 
transported  with  joy,  and  the  Abbé  Sérapion 
at  once  paid  her  the  price  which  she  asked 
for  her  little  property. 

As  soon  as  my  installation  was  over,  the 


CLARIMONDE  I07 

Abbé  Sérapion  returned  to  the  seminary.  I 
was,  therefore,  left  alone,  with  no  one  but 
myself  to  look  to  for  aid  or  counsel.  The 
thought  of  Clarimonde  again  began  to  haunt 
me,  and  in  spite  of  all  my  endeavors  to  ban- 
ish it,  I  always  found  it  present  in  my  medi- 
tations. One  evening,  while  promenading  in 
my  little  garden  along  the  walks  bordered 
with  box-plants,  I  fancied  that  I  saw  through 
the  elm-trees  the  figure  of  a  woman,  who  fol- 
lowed my  every  movement,  and  that  I  beheld 
two  sea-green  eyes  gleaming  through  the 
foliage  ;  but  it  was  only  an  illusion,  and  on 
going  round  to  the  other  side  of  the  garden, 
I  could  find  nothing  except  a  footprint  on 
the  sanded  walk — a  footprint  so  small  that 
it  seemed  to  have  been  made  by  the  foot  of 
a  child.  The  garden  was  enclosed  by  very 
high  walls.  I  searched  every  nook  and  cor- 
ner of  it,  but  could  discover  no  one  there. 
I  have  never  succeeded  in  fully  accounting 
for  this  circumstance,  which,  after  all,  was 
nothing  compared  with  the  strange  things 
which  happened  to  me  afterward. 

For  a  whole  year  I  lived  thus,  filHng  all 
the  duties  of  my  calling  with  the  most  scru- 


Io8  CLARIMONDE 

pulous  exactitude,  praying  and  fasting,  ex- 
horting and  lending  ghostly  aid  to  the  sick, 
and  bestowing  alms  even  to  the  extent  of 
frequently  depriving  myself  of  the  very  nec- 
essaries of  life.  But  I  felt  a  great  aridness 
within  me,  and  the  sources  of  grace  seemed 
closed  against  me.  I  never  found  that  hap- 
piness which  should  spring  from  the  fulfil- 
ment of  a  holy  mission  ;  my  thoughts  were 
far  away,  and  the  words  of  Clarimonde  were 
ever  upon  my  lips  like  an  involuntary  re- 
frain. Oh,  brother,  meditate  well  on  this! 
Through  having  but  once  lifted  my  eyes  to 
look  upon  a  woman,  through  one  fault  ap- 
parently so  venial,  I  have  for  years  remained 
a  victim  to  the  most  miserable  agonies,  and 
the  happiness  of  my  life  has  been  destroyed 
forever. 

I?  I  will  not  longer  dwell  upon  those  defeats, 
or  on  those  inward  victories  invariably  fol- 
lowed by  yet  more  terrible  falls,  but  will  at 
once  proceed  to  the  facts  of  my  story.  One 
night  my  door-bell  was  long  and  violently 
rung.  The  aged  housekeeper  arose  and 
opened  to  the  stranger,  and  the  figure  of  a 
man,  whose  complexion  was  deeply  bronzed. 


CLARIMONDE  I09 

and  who  was  richly  clad  in  a  foreign  cos- 
tume, with  a  poniard  at  his  girdle,  appeared 
under  the  rays  of  Barbara's  lantern.  Her 
first  impulse  was  one  of  terror,  but  the 
stranger  reassured  her,  and  stated  that  he 
desired  to  see  me  at  once  on  matters  relat- 
ing to  my  holy  calling.  Barbara  invited  him 
upstairs,  where  I  was  on  the  point  of  retir- 
ing. The  stranger  told  me  that  his  mistress, 
a  very  noble  lady,  was  lying  at  the  point  of 
death,  and  desired  to  see  a  priest.  I  replied 
that  I  was  prepared  to  follow  him,  took  with 
me  the  sacred  articles  necessary  for  extreme 
unction,  and  descended  in  all  haste.  Two 
horses  black  as  the  night  itself  stood  with- 
out the  gate,  pawing  the  ground  with  im- 
patience, and  veiling  their  chests  with  long 
streams  of  smoky  vapor  exhaled  from  their 
nostrils.  He  held  the  stirrup  and  aided  me 
to  mount  upon  one;  then,  merely  laying  his 
hand  upon  the  pummel  of  the  saddle,  he 
vaulted  on  the  other,  pressed  the  animal's 
sides  with  his  knees,  and  loosened  rein. 
The  horse  bounded  forward  with  the  velocity 
of  an  arrow.  Mine,  of  which  the  stranger 
held  the  bridle,  also  started  off  at  a  swift 


no  CLARIMONDE 

gallop,  keeping  up  with  his  companion. 
We  devoured  the  road.  The  ground  flowed 
backward  beneath  us  in  a  long  streaked  line 
of  pale  gray,  and  the  black  silhouettes  of  the 
trees  seemed  fleeing  by  us  on  either  side  like 
an  army  in  rout.  We  passed  through  a  for- 
est so  profoundly  gloomy  that  I  felt  my  flesh 
creep  in  the  chill  darkness  with  superstitious 
fear.  The  showers  of  bright  sparks  which 
flew  from  the  stony  road  under  the  ironshod 
feet  of  our  horses,  remained  glowing  in  our 
wake  like  a  fiery  trail  ;  and  had  anyone  at 
that  hour  of  the  night  beheld  us  both — my 
guide  and  myself — he  must  have  taken  us 
for  two  spectres  riding  upon  nightmares. 
Witch-fires  ever  and  anon  flitted  across  the 
road  before  us,  and  the  night-birds  shrieked 
fearsomely  in  the  depth  of  the  woods  be- 
yond, where  we  beheld  at  intervals  glow 
the  phosphorescent  eyes  of  wildcats.  The 
manes  of  the  horses  became  more  and  more 
dishevelled,  the  sweat  streamed  over  their 
flanks,  and  their  breath  came  through  their 
nostrils  hard  and  fast.  But  when  he  found 
them  slacking  pace,  the  guide  reanimated 
them  by  uttering  a  strange,   guttural,   un- 


CLARIMONDE  III 

earthly  cry,  and  the  gallop  recommenced 
with  fury.  At  last  the  whirlwind  race 
ceased  ;  a  huge  black  mass  pierced  through 
with  many  bright  points  of  light  suddenly 
rose  before  us,  the  hoofs  of  our  horses 
echoed  louder  upon  a  strong  wooden  draw- 
bridge, and  we  rode  under  a  great  vaulted 
archway  which  darkly  yawned  between  two 
enormous  towers.  Some  great  excitement 
evidently  reigned  in  the  castle.  Servants 
with  torches  were  crossing  the  courtyard  in 
every  direction,  and  above  lights  were  as- 
cending and  descending  from  landing  to 
landing.  I  obtained  a  confused  glimpse  of 
vast  masses  of  architecture — columns,  ar- 
cades, flights  of  steps,  stairways — a  royal 
voluptuousness  and  elfin  magnificence  of 
construction  worthy  of  fairyland.  A  negro 
page — the  same  who  had  before  brought  me 
the  tablet  from  Clarimode,  and  whom  I  in- 
stantly recognized — approached  to  aid  me  in 
dismounting,  and  the  major-domo,  attired 
in  black  velvet  with  a  gold  chain  about  his 
neck,  advanced  to  meet  me,  supporting  him- 
self upon  an  ivory  cane.  Large  tears  were 
falling  from  his  eyes  and  streaming  over  his 


112  CLARIMONDE 

cheeks  and  white  beard.  **  Too  late!"  he 
cried,  sorrowfully  shaking  his  venerable 
head.  **  Too  late,  sir  priest!  But  if  you 
have  not  been  able  to  save  the  soul,  come 
at  least  to  watch  by  the  poor  body." 

He  took  my  arm  and  conducted  me  to  the 
death  chamber.  I  wept  not  less  bitterly 
than  he,  for  I  had  learned  that  the  dead  one 
was  none  other  than  that  Clarimonde  whom 
I  had  so  deeply  and  so  wildly  loved.  A 
prie-dieu  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  ;  a 
bluish  flame  flickering  in  a  bronze  patera 
filled  all  the  room  with  a  wan,  deceptive 
light,  here  and  there  bringing  out  in  the 
darkness  at  intervals  some  projection  of  fur- 
niture or  cornice.  In  a  chiselled  urn  upon 
the  table  there  was  a  faded  white  rose, 
whose  leaves — excepting  one  that  still  held 
— had  all  fallen,  like  odorous  tears,  to  the 
foot  of  the  vase.  A  broken  black  mask,  a 
fan,  and  disguises  of  every  variety,  which 
were  lying  on  the  arm-chairs,  bore  witness 
that  death  had  entered  suddenly  and  unan- 
nounced into  that  sumptuous  dwelling. 
Without  daring  to  cast  my  eyes  upon  the 
bed,  I  knelt   down  and  commenced  to   re- 


CLARIMONDE  II3 

peat  the  Psalms  for  the  Dead,  with  exceed- 
ing fervor,  thanking  God  that  he  had  placed 
the  tomb  between  me  and  the  memory  of 
this  woman,  so  that  I  might  thereafter 
be  able  to  utter  her  name  in  my  prayers  as 
a  name  forever  sanctified  by  death.  But 
my  fervor  gradually  weakened,  and  I  fell 
insensibly  into  a  reverie.  That  chamber 
bore  no  semblance  to  a  chamber  of  death. 
In  lieu  of  the  foetid  and  cadaverous  odors 
which  I  had  been  accustomed  to  breathe 
during  such  funereal  vigils,  a  languorous 
vapor  of  Oriental  perfume — I  know  not  what 
amorous  odor  of  woman — softly  floated 
through  the  tepid  air.  That  pale  light 
seemed  rather  a  twilight  gloom  contrived 
for  voluptuous  pleasure,  than  a  substi- 
tute for  the  yellow-flickering  watch-tapers 
which  shine  by  the  side  of  corpses.  I 
thought  upon  the  strange  destiny  which  en- 
abled me  to  meet  Clarimonde  again  at  the 
very  moment  when  she  was  lost  to  me  for- 
ever, and  a  sigh  of  regretful  anguish  escaped 
from  my  breast.  Then  it  seemed  to  me 
that  some  one  behind  me  had  also  sighed, 
and  I  turned  round  to  look.     It  was  only  an 


114  CLARIMONDE 

echo.  But  in  that  moment  my  eyes  fell 
upon  the  bed  of  death  which  they  had  till 
then  avoided.  The  red  damask  curtains, 
decorated  with  large  flowers  worked  in  em- 
broidery, and  looped  up  with  gold  bullion, 
permitted  me  to  behold  the  fair  dead,  lying 
at  full  length,  with  hands  joined  upon  her 
bosom.  She  was  covered  with  a  linen  wrap- 
ping of  dazzling  whiteness,  which  formed  a 
strong  contrast  with  the  gloomy  purple  of 
the  hangings,  and  was  of  so  fine  a  texture 
that  it  concealed  nothing  of  her  body's 
charming  form,  and  allowed  the  eye  to  fol- 
low those  beautiful  outlines — undulating  like 
the  neck  of  a  swan — which  even  death  had 
not  robbed  of  their  supple  grace.  She 
seemed  an  alabaster  statue  executed  by 
some  skilful  sculptor  to  place  upon  the  tomb 
of  a  queen,  or  rather,  perhaps,  like  a  slum- 
bering maiden  over  whom  the  silent  snow 
had  woven  a  spotless  veil. 
^^*-I  could  no  longer  maintain  my  constrained 
attitude  of  prayer.  The  air  of  the  alcove 
intoxicated  me,  that  febrile  perfume  of  half- 
faded  roses  penetrated  my  very  brain,  and  I 
commenced  to  pace  restlessly  up  and  down 


CLARIMONDE  II5 

the  chamber,  pausing  at  each  turn  before 
the  bier  to  contemplate  the  graceful  corpse 
lying  beneath  the  transparency  of  its  shroud. 
Wild  fancies  came  thronging  to  my  brain. 
I  thought  to  myself  that  she  might  not,  per- 
haps, be  really  dead;  that  she  might  only 
have  feigned  death  for  the  purpose  of  bring- 
ing me  to  her  castle,  and  then  declaring  her 
love.  At  one  time  I  even  thought  I  saw 
her  foot  move  under  the  whiteness  of  the 
coverings,  and  slightly  disarrange  the  long, 
straight  folds  of  the  winding  sheet. 

And  then  I  asked  myself:  "  Is  this  indeed 
Clarimonde  ?  What  proof  have  I  that  it  is 
she  ?  Might  not  that  black  page  have 
passed  into  the  service  of  some  other  lady  ? 
Surely,  I  must  be  going  mad  to  torture  and 
afflict  myself  thus!"  But  my  heart  an- 
swered with  a  fierce  throbbing:  **  It  is  she; 
it  is  she  indeed!"  I  approached  the  bed 
again,  and  fixed  my  eyes  with  redoubled  at- 
tention upon  the  object  of  my  incertitude. 
Ah,  must  I  confess  it  ?  That  exquisite  per- 
fection of  bodily  form,  although  purified  and 
made  sacred  by  the  shadow  of  death,  affected 
me  more  voluptuously  than  it  should  have 


Il6  CLARIMONDE 

done,  and  that  repose  so  closely  resembled 
slumber  that  one  might  well  have  mistaken 
it  for  such.  I  forgot  that  I  had  come  there 
to  perform  a  funeral  ceremony;  I  fancied 
myself  a  young  bridegroom  entering  the 
chamber  of  the  bride,  who  all  modestly  hides 
her  fair  face,  and  through  coyness  seeks  to 
keep  herself  wholly  veiled.  Heartbroken 
with  grief,  yet  wild  with  hope,  shuddering 
at  once  with  fear  and  pleasure,  I  bent  over 
her  and  grasped  the  corner  of  the  sheet.  I 
lifted  it  back,  holding  my  breath  all  the 
while  through  fear  of  waking  her.  My 
arteries  throbbed  with  such  violence  that  I 
felt  them  hiss  through  my  temples,  and  the 
sweat  poured  from  my  forehead  in  streams, 
as  though  I  had  lifted  a  mighty  slab  of  mar- 
ble. There,  indeed,  lay  Clarimonde,  even 
as  I  had  seen  her  at  the  church  on  the  day 
of  my  ordination.  She  was  not  less  charm- 
ing than  then.  With  her,  death  seemed  but 
a  last  coquetry.  The  pallor  of  her  cheeks, 
the  less  brilliant  carnation  of  her  lips,  her 
long  eyelashes  lowered  and  relieving  their 
dark  fringe  against  that  white  skin,  lent  her 
an  unspeakably  seductive  aspect  of  melan- 


CLARIMONDE  II7 

choly  chastity  and  mental  suffering;  her 
long  loose  hair,  still  intertwined  with  some 
little  blue  flowers,  made  a  shining  pillow  for 
her  head,  and  veiled  the  nudity  of  her  shoul- 
ders with  its  thick  ringlets;  her  beautiful 
hands,  purer,  more  diaphanous  than  the 
Host,  were  crossed  on  her  bosom  in  an  atti- 
tude of  pious  rest  and  silent  prayer,  which 
served  to  counteract  all  that  might  have 
proven  otherwise  too  alluring — even  after 
death — in  the  exquisite  roundness  and  ivory 
polish  of  her  bare  arms  from  which  the  pearl 
bracelets  had  not  yet  been  removed.  I  re- 
mained long  in  mute  contemplation,  and  the 
more  I  gazed,  the  less  could  I  persuade 
myself  that  life  had  really  abandoned  that 
beautiful  body  forever.  I  do  not  know 
whether  it  was  an  illusion  or  a  reflection  of 
the  lamplight,  but  it  seemed  to  me  that  the 
blood  was  again  commencing  to  circulate 
under  that  lifeless  pallor,  although  she  re- 
mained ail  motionless.  I  laid  my  hand 
lightly  on  her  arm  ;  it  was  cold,  but  not 
colder  than  her  hand  on  the  day  when  it 
touched  mine  at  the  portals  of  the  church. 
I   resumed  my  position,   bending   my  face 


Il8  CLARIMONDE 

above  her,  and  bathing  her  cheeks  with  the 
warm  dew  of  my  tears.  Ah,  what  bitter 
feehngs  of  despair  and  helplessness,  what 
agonies  unutterable  did  I  endure  in  that 
long  watch  !  Vainly  did  I  wish  that  I  could 
have  gathered  all  my  life  into  one  mass  that 
I  might  give  it  all  to  her,  and  breathe  into 
her  chill  remains  the  flame  which  devoured 
me.  The  night  advanced,  and  feeling  the 
moment  of  eternal  separation  approach,  I 
could  not  deny  myself  the  last  sad  sweet 
pleasure  of  imprinting  a  kiss  upon  the  dead 
lips  of  her  who  had  been  my  only  love.  .  .  . 
Oh,  miracle!  A  faint  breath  mingled  itself 
with  my  breath,  and  the  mouth  of  Clari- 
monde  responded  to  the  passionate  pressure 
of  mine.  Her  eyes  unclosed,  and  lighted 
up  with  something  of  their  former  brilliancy; 
she  uttered  a  long  sigh,  and  uncrossing  her 
arms,  passed  them  around  my  neck  with  a 
look  of  ineffable  delight.  '*  Ah,  it  is  thou, 
Romuald!"  she  murmured  in  a  voice  lan- 
guishingly  sweet  as  the  last  vibrations  of  a 
harp.  "  What  ailed  thee,  dearest  ?  I  waited 
so  long  for  thee  that  I  am  dead  ;  but  we  are 
now    betrothed;  I    can   see   thee   and  visit 


CLARIMONDE  II9 

thee.  Adieu,  Romuald,  adieu  !  I  love  thee. 
That  is  all  I  wished  to  tell  thee,  and  I  give 
thee  back  the  life  which  thy  kiss  for  a  mo- 
ment recalled.     We  shall  soon  meet  again." 

Her  head  fell  back,  but  her  arms  yet  en- 
circled me,  as  though  to  retain  me  still.  A 
furious  whirlwind  suddenly  burst  in  the 
window,  and  entered  the  chamber.  The  last 
remaining  leaf  of  the  white  rose  for  a  mo- 
ment palpitated  at  the  extremity  of  the  stalk 
like  a  butterfly's  wing,  then  it  detached  itself 
and  flew  forth  through  the  open  casement, 
bearing  with  it  the  soul  of  Clarimonde.  The 
lamp  was  extinguished,  and  I  fell  insensible 
upon  the  bosom  of  the  beautiful  dead. 

When  I  came  to  myself  again  I  was  lying 
on  the  bed  in  my  little  room  at  the  presby- 
tery, and  the  old  dog  of  the  former  curé  was 
licking  my  hand  which  had  been  hanging 
down  outside  of  the  covers.  Barbara,  all 
trembling  with  age  and  anxiety,  was  busy- 
ing herself  about  the  room,  opening  and 
shutting  drawers,  and  emptying  powders 
into  glasses.  On  seeing  me  open  my  eyes, 
the  old  woman  uttered  a  cry  of  joy,  the  dog 
yelped  and  wagged  his  tail,  but  I  was  still 


I20  CLARIMONDE 

SO  weak  that  I  could  not  speak  a  single  word 
or  make  the  slightest  motion.  Afterward  I 
learned  that  I  had  lain  thus  for  three  days, 
giving  no  evidence  of  life  beyond  the  faint- 
est respiration.  Those  three  days  do  not 
reckon  in  my  life,  nor  could  I  ever  imagine 
whither  my  spirit  had  departed  during  those 
three  days  ;  I  have  no  recollection  of  aught 
relating  to  them.  Barbara  told  me  that  the 
same  coppery-complexioned  man  who  came 
to  seek  me  on  the  night  of  my  departure 
from  the  presbytery,  had  brought  me  back 
the  next  morning  in  a  close  litter,  and  de- 
parted immediately  afterward.  When  I  be- 
came able  to  collect  my  scattered  thoughts, 
I  reviewed  within  my  mind  all  the  circum- 
stances of  that  fateful  night.  At  first  I 
thought  I  had  been  the  victim  of  some  magi- 
cal illusion,  but  ere  long  the  recollection  of 
other  circumstances,  real  and  palpable  in 
themselves,  came  to  forbid  that  supposition. 
I  could  not  believe  that  I  had  been  dream- 
ing, since  Barbara  as  well  as  myself  had  seen 
the  strange  man  with  his  two  black  horses, 
and  described  with  exactness  every  detail  of 
his  figure  and  apparel.     Nevertheless  it  ap- 


CLARIMONDE  Ï2I 

peared  that  none  knew  of  any  castle  in  the 
neighborhood  answering  to  the  description 
of  that  in  which  I  had  again  found  Clari- 

monde. 

One  morning  I  found  the  Abbé  Sérapion 
in  my  room.  Barbara  had  advised  him  that 
I  was  ill,  and  he  had  come  with  all  speed  to 
see  me.  Although  this  haste  on  his  part 
testified  to  an  affectionate  interest  in  me, 
yet  his  visit  did  not  cause  me  the  pleasure 
which  it  should  have  done.  The  Abbé  Séra- 
pion had  something  penetrating  and  inquisi- 
torial in  his  gaze  which  made  me  feel  very 
ill  at  ease.  His  presence  filled  me  with  em- 
barrassment  and  a  sense  of  guilt.  At  the 
first  glance  he  divined  my  interior  trouble, 
and  I  hated  him  for  his  clairvoyance.^ 

While  he  inquired  after  my  health  in  hyp- 
ocritically honeyed  accents,  he  constantly 
kept  his  two  great  yellow  lion-eyes  fixed 
upon  me,  and  plunged  his  look  into  my  soul 
like  a  sounding  lead.  Then  he  asked  me 
how  I  directed  my  parish,  if  I  was  happy  in 
it  how  I  passed  the  leisure  hours  allowed 
me  in  the  intervals  of  pastoral  duty,  whether 
I  had  become  acquainted  with  many  of  the 


122  CLARIMONDE 

inhabitants  of  the  place,  what  was  my  favor- 
ite reading,  and  a  thousand  other  such  ques- 
tions. I  answered  these  inquiries  as  briefly 
as  possible,  and  he,  without  ever  waiting 
for  my  answers,  passed  rapidly  from  one 
subject  of  query  to  another.  That  conver- 
sation had  evidently  no  connection  with 
what  he  actually  wished  to  say.  At  last, 
without  any  premonition,  but  as  though 
repeating  a  piece  of  news  which  he  had 
recalled  on  the  instant,  and  feared  might 
otherwise  be  forgotten  subsequently,  he  sud- 
denly said,  in  a  clear  vibrant  voice,  which 
rang  in  my  ears  like  the  trumpets  of  the 
Last  Judgment: 

"  The  great  courtesan  Clarimonde  died  a 
few  days  ago,  at  the  close  of  an  orgie  which 
lasted  eight  days  and  eight  nights.  It  was 
something  infernally  splendid.  The  abomi- 
nations of  the  banquets  of  Belshazzar  and 
Cleopatra  were  reënacted  there.  Good  God, 
what  age  are  we  living  in  ?  The  guests  were 
served  by  swarthy  slaves  who  spoke  an  un- 
known tongue,  and  who  seemed  to  me  to  be 
veritable  demons.  The  livery  of  the  very 
least  among  them  would  have  served  for  the 


CLARIMONDE  Ï2$ 

gala-dress  of  an  emperor.  There  have  always 
been  very  strange  stories  told  of  this  Clari- 
monde,  and  all  her  lovers  came  to  a  violent 
or  miserable  end.  They  used  to  say  that 
she  was  a  ghoul,  a  female  vampire;  but  I 
believe  she  was  none  other  than  Beelzebub 
himself." 

He  ceased  to  speak  and  commenced  to  re- 
gard me  more  attentively  than  ever,  as 
though  to  observe  the  effect  of  his  words  on 
me.  I  could  not  refrain  from  starting  when 
I  heard  him  utter  the  name  of  Clarimonde, 
and  this  news  of  her  death,  in  addition  to 
the  pain  it  caused  me  by  reason  of  its  coin- 
cidence with  the  nocturnal  scenes  I  had  wit- 
nessed, filled  me  with  an  agony  and  terror 
which  my  face  betrayed,  despite  my  utmost 
endeavors  to  appear  composed.  Sérapion 
fixed  an  anxious  and  severe  look  upon  me, 
and  then  observed:  "  My  son,  I  must  warn 
you  that  you  are  standing  with  foot  raised 
upon  the  brink  of  an  abyss  ;  take  heed  lest 
you  fall  therein.  Satan's  claws  are  long, 
and  tombs  are  not  always  true  to  their  trust. 
The  tombstone  of  Clarimonde  should  be 
sealed  down  with  a  triple  seal,  for,  if  report 


124  CLARIMONDE 

be  true,  it  is  not  the  first  time  she  has  died. 
May  God  watch  over  you,  Romuald  !  " 

And  with  these  words  the  Abbé  walked 
slowly  to  the  door.     I  did  not  see  him  again 

at  that  time,  for  he  left  for  S almost 

immediately. 

I  became  completely  restored  to  health 
and  resumed  my  accustomed  duties.  The 
memory  of  Clarimonde  and  the  words  of 
the  old  Abbé  were  constantly  in  my  mind  ; 
nevertheless  no  extraordinary  event  had  oc- 
curred to  verify  the  funereal  predictions  of 
Sérapion,  and  I  had  commenced  to  believe 
that  his  fears  and  my  own  terrors  were  over- 
exaggerated,  when  one  night  I  had  a  strange 
dream.  I  had  hardly  fallen  asleep  when  I 
heard  my  bed-curtains  drawn  apart,  as  their 
rings  slided  back  upon  the  curtain  rod  with 
a  sharp  sound.  I  rose  up  quickly  upon  my 
elbow,  and  beheld  the  shadow  of  a  woman 
standing  erect  before  me.  "  I  recognized 
Clarimonde  immediately.  She  bore  in  her 
hand  a  little  lamp,  shaped  like  those  w^hich 
are  placed  in  tombs,  and  its  light  lent  her 
fingers  a  rosy  transparency,  which  extended 
itself  by  lessening  degrees  even  to  the  opaque 


CLARIMONDE  12$ 

and  milky  whiteness  of  her  bare  arm.  Her 
only  garment  was  the  linen  winding-sheet 
which  had  shrouded  her  when  lying  upon 
the  bed  of  death.  She  sought  to  gather  its 
folds  over  her  bosom  as  though  ashamed  of 
being  so  scantily  clad,  but  her  little  hand 
was  not  equal  to  the  task.  She  was  so  white 
that  the  color  of  the  drapery  blended  with 
that  of  her  flesh  under  the  pallid  rays  of  the 
lamp.  Enveloped  with  this  subtle  tissue 
which  betrayed  all  the  contour  of  her  body, 
she  seemed  rather  the  marble  statue  of  some 
fair  antique  bather  than  a  woman  endowed 
with  life.  But  dead  or  living,  statue  or 
woman,  shadow  or  body,  her  beauty  was 
still  the  same,  only  that  the  green  light  of 
her  eyes  was  less  brilliant,  and  her  mouth, 
once  so  warmly  crimson,  was  only  tinted 
with  a  faint  tender  rosiness,  like  that  of  her 
cheeks.  The  little  blue  flowers  which  I  had 
noticed  entwined  in  her  hair  were  withered 
and  dry,  and  had  lost  nearly  all  their  leaves, 
but  this  did  not  prevent  her  from  being 
charming — so  charming  that  notwithstand- 
ing the  strange  character  of  the  adventure, 
and  the  unexplainable  manner  in  which  she 


126  CLARIMONDE 

had  entered  my  room,  I  felt  not  even  for  a 
moment  the  least  fear. 

She  placed  the  lamp  on  the  table  and 
seated  herself  at  the  foot  of  my  bed  ;  then 
bending  toward  me,  she  said,  in  that  voice 
at  once  silvery  clear  and  yet  velvety  in  its 
sweet  softness,  such  as  I  never  heard  from 
any  lips  save  hers  : 

**  I  have  kept  thee  long  in  waiting,  dear 
Romuald,  and  it  must  have  seemed  to  thee 
that  I  had  forgotten  thee.  But  I  come  from 
afar  off,  very  far  off,  and  from  a  land  whence 
no  other  has  ever  yet  returned.  There  is 
neither  sun  nor  moon  in  that  land  whence  I 
come  :  all  is  but  space  and  shadow  ;  there  is 
neither  road  nor  pathway  :  no  earth  for  the 
foot,  no  air  for  the  wing  ;  and  nevertheless 
behold  me  here,  for  Love  is  stronger  than 
Death  and  must  conquer  him  in  the  end. 
Oh  what  sad  faces  and  fearful  things  I  have 
seen  on  my  way  hither!  What  difficulty 
my  soul,  returned  to  earth  through  the 
power  of  will  alone,  has  had  in  finding  its 
body  and  reinstating  itself  therein  !  What 
terrible  efforts  I  had  to  make  ere  I  could 
lift  the  ponderous  slab  with  which  they  had 


CLARIMONDE  12/ 

covered  me!  See,  the  palms  of  my  poor 
hands  are  all  bruised!  Kiss  them,  sweet 
love,  that  they  may  be  healed!  "  She  laid 
the  cold  palms  of  her  hands  upon  my  mouth, 
one  after  the  other.  1  kissed  them,  indeed, 
many  times,  and  she  the  while  watched  me 
with  a  smile  of  ineffable  affection. 

I  confess  to  my  shame  that  I  had  entirely 
forgotten  the  advice  of  the  Abbé  Sérapion 
and  the  sacred  office  wherewith  I  had  been 
invested.  I  had  fallen  without  resistance, 
and  at  the  first  assault.  I  had  not  even 
made  the  least  effort  to  repel  the  tempter. 
The  fresh  coolness  of  Clarimonde's  skin 
penetrated  my  own,  and  I  felt  voluptuous 
tremors  pass  over  my  whole  body.  Poor 
child  !  in  spite  of  all  I  saw  afterward,  I  can 
hardly  yet  believe  she  was  a  demon  ;  at  least 
she  had  no  appearance  of  being  such,  and 
never  did  Satan  so  skilfully  conceal  his  claws 
and  horns.  She  had  drawn  her  feet  up  be- 
neath her,  and  squatted  down  on  the  edge 
of  the  couch  in  an  attitude  full  of  negligent 
coquetry.  From  time  to  time  she  passed 
her  little  hand  through  my  hair  and  twisted 
it  into  curls,  as  though  trying  how  a  new 


128  CLARIMONDE 

style  of  wearing  it  would  become  my  face. 
I  abandoned  myself  to  her  hands  with  the 
most  guilty  pleasure,  while  she  accompanied 
her  gentle  play  with  the  prettiest  prattle. 
The  most  remarkable  fact  was  that  I  felt  no 
astonishment  whatever  at  so  extraordinary 
an  adventure,  and  as  in  dreams  one  finds  no 
difficulty  in  accepting  the  most  fantastic 
events  as  simple  facts,  so  all  these  circum- 
stances seemed  to  me  perfectly  natural  in 
themselves. 

"  I  loved  thee  long  ere  I  saw  thee,  dear 
Romuald,  and  sought  thee  everywhere. 
Thou  wast  my  dream,  and  I  first  saw  thee 
in  the  church  at  the  fatal  moment.  I  said 
at  once,  *  It  is  he  !  '  I  gave  thee  a  look  into 
which  I  threw  all  the  love  I  ever  had,  all  the 
love  I  now  have,  all  the  love  I  shall  ever 
have  for  thee — a  look  that  would  have 
damned  a  cardinal  or  brought  a  king  to  his 
knees  at  my  feet  in  view  of  all  his  court. 
Thou  remainedst  unmoved,  preferring  thy 
God  to  me  ! 

"  Ah,  how  jealous  I  am  of  that  God  whom 
thou  didst  love  and  still  lovest  more  than 
me! 


CLARIMONDE  1 29 

"  Woe  is  me,  unhappy  one  that  I  am!  I 
can  never  have  thy  heart  all  to  myself,  I 
whom  thou  didst  recall  to  life  with  a  kiss — 
dead  Clarimonde,  who  for  thy  sake  bursts 
asunder  the  gates  of  the  tomb,  and  comes 
to  consecrate  to  thee  a  life  which  she  has 
resumed  only  to  make  thee  happy!  " 

All  her  words  were  accompanied  with  the 
most  impassioned  caresses,  which  bewildered 
my  sense  and  my  reason  to  such  an  extent, 
that  I  did  not  fear  to  utter  a  frightful  blas- 
phemy for  the  sake  of  consoling  her,  and  to 
declare  that  I  loved  her  as  much  as  God. 

Her  eyes  rekindled  and  shone  like  chryso- 
prases.  "  In  truth? — in  very  truth? — as  much 
as  God  !"  she  cried,  flinging  her  beautiful 
arms  around  me.  "  Since  it  is  so,  thou  wilt 
come  with  me;  thou  wilt  follow  me  whither- 
soever I  desire.  Thou  wilt  cast  away  thy 
ugly  black  habit.  Thou  shalt  be  the  proud- 
est and  most  envied  of  cavaliers;  thou  shalt 
be  my  lover  !  To  be  the  acknowledged  lover 
of  Clarimonde,  who  has  refused  even  a  Pope, 
that  will  be  something  to  feel  proud  of! 
Ah,  the  fair,  unspeakably  happy  existence, 
the  beautiful  golden  life  we  shall  live  to- 
0 


I30  CLARIMONDE 

gether  !  And  when  shall  we  depart,  my  fair 
Sir  ? 

"To-morrow!  To-morrow!"  I  cried  in 
my  delirium.. 

**  To-morrow,  then,  so  let  it  be!  "  she  an- 
swered. "  In  the  meanwhile  I  shall  have 
opportunity  to  change  my  toilet,  for  this  is 
a  little  too  light  and  in  nowise  suited  for  a 
voyage.  I  must  also  forthwith  notify  all 
my  friends  who  believe  me  dead,  and  mourn 
for  me  as  deeply  as  they  are  capable  of 
doing.  The  money,  the  dresses,  the  car- 
riages— all  will  be  ready.  I  shall  call  for 
thee  at  this  same  hour.  Adieu,  dear  heart  !  '  ' 
And  she  lightly  touched  my  forehead  with 
her  lips.  The  lamp  went  out,  the  curtains 
closed  again,  and  all  became  dark;  a  leaden, 
dreamless  sleep  fell  on  me  and  held  me  un- 
conscious until  the  morning  following. 

I  awoke  later  than  usual,  and  the  recollec- 
tion of  this  singular  adventure  troubled  me 
during  the  whole  day.  I  finally  persuaded 
myself  that  it  was  a  mere  vapor  of  my 
heated  imagination.  Nevertheless  its  sensa- 
tions had  been  so  vivid  that  it  was  difficult 
to  persuade  myself  that  they  v/ere  not  real, 


CLARIMONDE  I3I 

and  it  was  not  without  some  presentiment 
of  what  was  going  to  happen  that  I  got  into 
bed  at  last,  after  having  prayed  God  to  drive 
far  from  me  all  thoughts  of  evil,  and  to  pro- 
tect the  chastity  of  my  slumber. 

I  soon  fell  into  a  deep  sleep,  and  my 
dream  was  continued.  The  curtains  again 
parted,  and  I  beheld  Clarimonde,  not  as  on 
the  former  occasion,  pale  in  her  pale  wind- 
ing-sheet, with  the  violets  of  death  upon 
her  cheeks,  but  gay,  sprightly,  jaunty,  in  a 
superb  travelling  dress  of  green  velvet, 
trimmed  with  gold  lace,  and  looped  up  on 
either  side  to  allow  a  glimpse  of  satin  petti- 
coat. Her  blond  hair  escaped  in  thick  ring- 
lets from  beneath  a  broad  black  felt  hat, 
decorated  with  white  feathers  whimsically 
twisted  into  various  shapes.  In  one  hand 
she  held  a  little  riding  whip  terminated  by  a 
golden  whistle.  She  tapped  me  lightly  with 
it,  and  exclaimed:  "  Well,  my  fine  sleeper, 
is  this  the  way  you  make  your  preparations  ? 
I  thought  I  would  find  you  up  and  dressed. 
Arise  quickly,  we  have  no  time  to  lose." 

I  leaped  out  of  bed  at  once. 

**Come,   dress  yourself,  and  let  us  go," 


132  CLARIMONDE 

she  continued,  pointing  to  a  little  package 
she  had  brought  with  her.  "  The  horses  are 
becoming  impatient  of  delay  and  champing 
their  bits  at  the  door.  We  ought  to  have 
been  by  this  time  at  least  ten  leagues  dis- 
tant from  here." 

I  dressed  myself  hurriedly,  and  she  handed 
me  the  articles  of  apparel  herself  one  by  one, 
bursting  into  laughter  from  time  to  time  at 
my  awkwardness,  as  she  explained  to  me  the 
use  of  a  garment  when  I  had  made  a  mis- 
take. She  hurriedly  arranged  my  hair,  and 
this  done,  held  up  before  me  a  little  pocket 
mirror  of  Venetian  crystal,  rimmed  with 
silver  fîligree-work,  and  playfully  asked: 
**  How  dost  find  thyself  now  ?  Wilt  engage 
me  for  thy  valet  de  chambre  ?  " 

I  was  no  longer  the  same  person,  and  I 
could  not  even  recognize  myself.  I  resem- 
bled my  former  self  no  more  than  a  finished 
statue  resembles  a  block  of  stone.  My  old 
face  seemed  but  a  coarse  daub  of  the  one 
reflected  in  the  mirror.  I  was  handsome, 
and  my  vanity  was  sensibly  tickled  by  the 
metamorphosis.  That  elegant  apparel,  that 
richly  embroidered  vest  had  made  of  me  a 


CLARIMONDE  1 33 

totally  different  personage,  and  I  marvelled 
at  the  power  of  transformation  owned  by  a 
few  yards  of  cloth  cut  after  a  certain  pat- 
tern. The  spirit  of  my  costume  penetrated 
my  very  skin,  and  within  ten  minutes  more 
I  had  become  something  of  a  coxcomb. 

In  order  to  feel  more  at  ease  in  my  new 
attire,  I  took  several  turns  up  and  down  the 
room.  Clarimonde  watched  me  with  an  air 
of  maternal  pleasure,  and  appeared  well  sat- 
isfied with  her  work.  "  Come,  enough  of 
this  child's-play!  Let  us  start,  Romuald, 
dear.  We  have  far  to  go,  and  we  may  not 
get  there  in  time."  She  took  my  hand  and 
led  me  forth.  All  the  doors  opened  before 
her  at  a  touch,  and  we  passed  by  the  dog 
without  awaking  him. 

At  the  gate  we  found  Margheritone  wait- 
ing, the  same  swarthy  groom  who  had  once 
before  been  my  escort.  He  held  the  bridles 
of  three  horses,  all  black  like  those  which 
bore  us  to  the  castle — one  for  me,  one  for 
him,  one  for  Clarimonde.  Those  horses 
must  have  been  Spanish  genets  born  of  mares 
fecundated  by  a  zephyr,  for  they  were  fleet 
as  the  wind  itself,  and  the  moon,  which  had 


134  CLARIMONDE 

just  risen  at  our  departure  to  light  us  on  the 
way,  rolled  over  the  sky  like  a  wheel  de- 
tached from  her  own  chariot.  We  beheld 
her  on  the  right  leaping  from  tree  to  tree, 
and  putting  herself  out  of  breath  in  the 
effort  to  keep  up  with  us.  Soon  we  came 
upon  a  level  plain  where,  hard  by  a  clump  of 
trees,  a  carriage  with  four  vigorous  horses 
awaited  us.  We  entered  it,  and  the  postil- 
ions urged  their  animals  into  a  mad  gallop. 
I  had  one  arm  around  Clarimonde's  waist, 
and  one  of  her  hands  clasped  in  mine;  her 
head  leaned  upon  my  shoulder,  and  I  felt 
her  bosom,  half  bare,  lightly  pressing  against 
my  arm.  I  had  never  known  such  intense 
happiness.  In  that  hour  I  had  forgotten 
everything,  and  I  no  more  remembered  hav- 
ing ever  been  a  priest  than  I  remembered 
what  I  had  been  doing  in  my  mother's 
womb,  so  great  was  the  fascination  which 
the  evil  spirit  exerted  upon  me.  From  that 
night  my  nature  seemed  in  some  sort  to 
have  become  halved,  and  there  were  two 
men  within  me,  neither  of  whom  knew  the 
other.  At  one  moment  I  believed  myself  a 
priest  who  dreamed  nightly  that  he  was  a 


CLARIMONDE  I35 

gentleman,  at  another  that  I  was  a  gentleman 
who  dreamed  he  was  a  priest.  I  could  no 
longer  distinguish  the  dream  from  the  real- 
ity, nor  could  I  discover  where  the  reality 
began  or  where  ended  the  dream.  The  ex- 
quisite young  lord  and  libertine  railed  at  the 
priest,  the  priest  loathed  the  dissolute  habits 
of  the  young  lord.  Two  spirals  entangled 
and  confounded  the  one  with  the  other,  yet 
never  touching,  would  afford  a  fair  repre- 
sentation of  this  bicephalic  life  which  I  lived. 
Despite  the  strange  character  of  my  condi- 
tion, I  do  not  believe  that  I  ever  inclined, 
even  for  a  moment,  to  madness.  I  always 
retained  with  extreme  vividness  all  the  per- 
ceptions of  my  two  lives.  Only  there  was 
one  absurd  fact  which  I  could  not  explain 
to  myself — namely,  that  the  consciousness 
of  the  same  individuality  existed  in  two  men 
so  opposite  in  character.  It  was  an  anomaly 
for  which  I  could  not  account — whether  I 
believed  myself  to  be  the  curé  of  the  little 

village  of  C ,  or  //  Signor  Romualdo,  the 

titled  lover  of  Clarimonde. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  I  lived,  at  least  I  be- 
lieved that  I  lived,  in  Venice.      I  have  never 


136  CLARIMONDE 

been  able  to  discover  rightly  how  much  of 
illusion  and  how  much  of  reality  there  was 
in  this  fantastic  adventure.  We  dwelt  in  a 
great  palace  on  the  Canaleio,  filled  with  fres- 
coes and  statues,  and  containing  two  Titians 
in  the  noblest  style  of  the  great  master, 
which  were  hung  in  Clarimonde's  chamber. 
It  was  a  palace  well  Avorthy  of  a  king.  We 
had  each  our  gondola,  our  barcarolli  in  fam- 
ily livery,  our  music  hall,  and  our  special 
poet.  Clarimonde  always  lived  upon  a  mag- 
nificent scale;  there  was  something  of  Cleo- 
patra in  her  nature.  As  for  me,  I  had  the 
retinue  of  a  prince's  son,  and  I  was  regarded 
with  as  much  reverential  respect  as  though 
I  had  been  of  the  family  of  one  of  the  twelve 
Apostles  or  the  four  Evangelists  of  the  Most 
Serene  Republic.  I  would  not  have  turned 
aside  to  allow  even  the  Doge  to  pass,  and  I 
do  not  believe  that  since  Satan  fell  from 
heaven,  any  creature  was  ever  prouder  or 
more  insolent  than  I.  I  went  to  the  Ridot- 
to,  and  played  with  a  luck  which  seemed 
absolutely  infernal.  I  received  the  best  of 
all  society — the  sons  of  ruined  families, 
women  of  the  theatre,  shrewd  knaves,  para- 


CLARIMONDE  1 37 

sites,  hectoring  swashbucklers.  But  not- 
withstanding the  dissipation  of  such  a  Hfe, 
I  always  remained  faithful  to  Clarimonde. 
I  loved  her  wildly.  She  would  have  excited 
satiety  itself,  and  chained  inconstancy.  To 
have  Clarimonde  was  to  have  twenty  mis- 
tresses ;  aye,  to  possess  all  women  :  so  mo- 
bile, so  varied  of  aspect,  so  fresh  in  new 
charms  was  she  all  in  herself — a  very  chame- 
leon of  a  woman,  in  sooth.  She  made  you 
commit  with  her  the  infidelity  you  would 
have  committed  with  another,  by  donning 
to  perfection  the  character,  the  attraction, 
the  style  of  beauty  of  the  woman  who  ap- 
peared to  please  you.  She  returned  my  love 
a  hundred-fold,  and  it  was  in  vain  that  the 
young  patricians  and  even  the  Ancients  of 
the  Council  of  Ten  made  her  the  most  mag- 
nificent proposals.  A  Foscari  even  went  so 
far  as  to  offer  to  espouse  her.  She  rejected 
all  his  overtures.  Of  gold  she  had  enough. 
She  wished  no  longer  for  anything  but  love 
— a  love  youthful,  pure,  evoked  by  herself, 
and  which  should  be  a  first  and  last  passion. 
I  would  have  been  perfectly  happy  but  for 
a  cursed    nightmare  which    recurred    every 


I3S  CLARIMONDE 

night,  and  in  which  I  beh'eved  myself  to  be 
a  poor  village  curé,  practising  mortification 
and  penance  for  m}^  excesses  during  the  day. 
Reassured  by  my  constant  association  with 
her,  I  never  thought  further  of  the  strange 
manner  in  which  I  had  become  acquainted 
with  Clarimonde.  But  the  words  of  the 
Abbé  Sérapion  concerning  her  recurred  often 
to  my  memory,  and  never  ceased  to  cause 
me  uneasiness. 

For  some  time  the  health  of  Clarimonde 
had  not  been  so  good  as  usual;  her  com- 
plexion grew  paler  day  by  day.  The  phy- 
sicians who  were  summoned  could  not  com- 
prehend the  nature  of  her  malady  and  knew 
not  how  to  treat  it.  They  all  prescribed 
some  insignificant  remedies,  and  never  called 
a  second  time.  Her  paleness,  nevertheless, 
visibly  increased,  and  she  became  colder  and 
colder,  until  she  seemed  almost  as  white  and 
dead  as  upon  that  memorable  night  in  the 
unknown  castle.  I  grieved  with  anguish 
unspeakable  to  behold  her  thus  slowly  perish- 
ing; and  she,  touched  by  my  agony,  smiled 
upon  me  sweetly  and  sadly  with  the  fateful 
smile  of  those  who  feel  that  they  must  die. 


CLARIMONDE  139 

One  morning  I  was  seated  at  her  bedside, 
and  breakfasting  from  a  little  table  placed 
close  at  hand,  so  that  I  might  not  be  obliged 
to  leave  her  for  a  single  instant.     In  the  act 
of  cutting  some  fruit  I  accidentally  inflicted 
rather  a  deep  gash  on  my  finger.     The  blood 
immediately  gushed  forth  in  a  little  purple 
jet,    and   a  few   drops    spurted   upon  Clari- 
monde.     Her   eyes   flashed,    her   face    sud- 
denly assumed  an  expression  of  savage  and 
ferocious  joy  such  as  I  had  never  before  ob- 
served  in  her.     She  leaped  out  of  her  bed 
with  animal  agility— the  agility,  as  it  were, 
of  an  ape  or  a  cat— and   sprang   upon  my 
wound,  which  she  commenced  to  suck  with 
an  air  of  unutterable  pleasure.     She  swal- 
lowed the  blood  in  little  mouthfuls,  slowly 
and  carefully,  like  a  connoisseur  tasting  a 
wine    from    Xeres  or  Syracuse.      Gradually 
her  eyelids  half  closed,  and  the  pupils  of  her 
green  eyes  became  oblong  instead  of  round. 
From  time  to  time  she  paused  in  order  to 
kiss  my  hand,  then  she  would  recommence 
to  press  her  lips  to  the  lips  of  the  wound  in 
order  to  coax  forth  a  few  more  ruddy  drops. 
When  she  found  that  the  blood  would  no 


I40  CLARIMONDE 

longer  come,  she  arose  with  eyes  liquid  and 
brilliant,  rosier  than  a  May  dawn  ;  her  face 
full  and  fresh,  her  hand  warm  and  moist — 
in  fine,  more  beautiful  than  ever,  and  in  the 
most  perfect  health. 

"I  shall  not  die  !  I  shall  not  die  !  "  she 
cried,  clinging  to  my  neck,  half  mad  with 
joy.  "  I  can  love  thee  yet  for  a  long  time. 
My  life  is  thine,  and  all  that  is  of  me  comes 
from  thee.  A  few  drops  of  thy  rich  and 
noble  blood,  more  precious  and  more  potent 
than  all  the  elixirs  of  the  earth,  have  given 
me  back  life." 

This  scene  long  haunted  my  memory,  and 
inspired  me  with  strange  doubts  in  regard  to 
Clarimonde;  and  the  same  evening,  when 
slumber  had  transported  me  to  my  presby- 
tery, I  beheld  the  Abbé  Sérapion,  graver 
and  more  anxious  of  aspect  than  ever.  He 
gazed  attentively  at  me,  and  sorrowfully  ex- 
claimed: "  Not  content  with  losing  your 
soul,  you  now  desire  also  to  lose  your  body. 
Wretched  young  man,  into  how  terrible  a 
plight  have  you  fallen  !  "  The  tone  in  which 
he  uttered  these  words  powerfully  affected 
me,  but  in  spite  of  its  vividness  even  that 


CLARIMONDE  141 

impression  was  soon  dissipated,  and  a  thou- 
sand other  cares  erased  it  from  my  mind. 
At  last  one  evening,  while  looking  into  a 
mirror  whose  traitorous  position  she  had  not 
taken  into  account,  I  saw  Clarimonde  in  the 
act  of  emptying  a  powder  into  the  cup  of 
spiced  wine  which  she  had  long  been  in  the 
habit  of  preparing  after  our  repasts.  I  took 
the  cup,  feigned  to  carry  it  to  my  lips,  and 
then  placed  it  on  the  nearest  article  of  furni- 
ture as  though  intending  to  finish  it  at  my 
leisure.  Taking  advantage  of  a  moment 
when  the  fair  one's  back  was  turned,  I  threw 
the  contents  under  the  table,  after  which  I 
retired  to  my  chamber  and  went  to  bed, 
fully  resolved  not  to  sleep,  but  to  watch  and 
discover  what  should  come  of  all  this  mys- 
tery. I  did  not  have  to  wait  long.  Clari- 
monde entered  in  her  night-dress,  and  hav- 
ing removed  her  apparel,  crept  into  bed  and 
lay  down  beside  me.  When  she  felt  assured 
that  I  was  asleep,  she  bared  my  arm,  and 
drawing  a  gold  pin  from  her  hair,  com- 
menced to  murmur  in  a  low  voice: 

"  One  drop,  only  one  drop  !     One  ruby  at 
the   end   of   my   needle.  .  .  .     Since   thou 


142  CLARIMONDE 

lovest  me  yet,  I  must  not  die!  .  .  .  Ah, 
poor  love!  His  beautiful  blood,  so  brightly 
purple,  I  must  drink  it.  Sleep,  my  only 
treasure  !  Sleep,  my  god,  my  child  !  I  will 
do  thee  no  harm  ;  I  will  only  take  of  thy  life 
what  I  must  to  keep  my  own  from  being 
forever  extinguished.  But  that  I  love  thee 
so  much,  I  could  well  resolve  to  have  other 
lovers  whose  veins  I  could  drain  ;  but  since 
I  have  known  thee  all  other  men  have  be- 
come hateful  to  me.  .  .  .  Ah,  the  beauti- 
ful arm  !  How  round  it  is  !  How  white  it 
is!  How  shall  I  ever  dare  to  prick  this 
pretty  blue  vein!"  And  while  thus  mur- 
muring to  herself  she  wept,  and  I  felt  her 
tears  raining  on  my  arm  as  she  clasped  it 
with  her  hands.  At  last  she  took  the  re- 
solve, slightly  punctured  me  with  her  pin, 
and  commenced  to  suck  up  the  blood  which 
oozed  from  the  place.  Although  she  swal- 
lowed only  a  few  drops,  the  fear  of  weaken- 
ing me  soon  seized  her,  and  she  carefully 
tied  a  little  band  around  my  arm,  afterward 
rubbing  the  wound  with  an  unguent  which 
immediately  cicatrized  it. 

Further   doubts   were    impossible.      The 


CLARIMONDE  I43 

Abbé  Sérapion  was  right.  Notwithstanding 
this  positive  knowledge,  however,  I  could 
not  cease  to  love  Clarimonde,  and  I  would 
gladly  of  my  own  accord  have  given  her  all 
the  blood  she  required  to  sustain  her  facti- 
tious life.  Moreover,  I  felt  but  little  fear  of 
her.  The  woman  seemed  to  plead  with  me 
for  the  vampire,  and  what  I  had  already 
heard  and  seen  sufficed  to  reassure  me  com- 
pletely. In  those  days  I  had  plenteous 
veins,  which  would  not  have  been  so  easily 
exhausted  as  at  present  ;  and  I  would  not 
have  thought  of  bargaining  for  my  blood, 
drop  by  drop.  I  would  rather  have  opened 
myself  the  veins  of  my  arm  and  said  to  her: 

Drink,  and  may  my  love  infiltrate  itself 
throughout  thy  body  together  with  my 
blood!"  I  carefully  avoided  ever  making 
the  least  reference  to  the  narcotic  drink  she 
had  prepared  for  me,  or  to  the  incident  of 
the  pin,  and  we  lived  in  the  most  perfect 
harmony. 

Yet  my  priestly  scruples  commenced  to 
torment  me  more  than  ever,  and  I  was  at  a 
loss  to  imagine  what  new  penance  I  could 
invent  in  order  to  mortify  and  subdue  my 


144  CLARIMONDE 

flesh.  Although  these  visions  were  involun- 
tary, and  though  I  did  not  actually  partici- 
pate in  anything  relating  to  them,  I  could 
not  dare  to  touch  the  body  of  Christ  with 
hands  so  impure  and  a  mind  defiled  by  such 
debauches  whether  real  or  imaginary.  In 
the  effort  to  avoid  falling  under  the  influ- 
ence of  these  wearisome  hallucinations,  I 
strove  to  prevent  myself  from  being  over- 
come by  sleep.  I  held  my  eyelids  open  with 
my  fingers,  and  stood  for  hours  together 
leaning  upright  against  the  wall,  fighting 
sleep  with  all  my  might;  but  the  dust  of 
drowsiness  invariably  gathered  upon  my 
eyes  at  last,  and  finding  all  resistance  use- 
less, I  would  have  to  let  my  arms  fall  in  the 
extremity  of  despairing  weariness,  and  the 
current  of  slumber  would  again  bear  me 
away  to  the  perfidious  shores.  Sérapion 
addressed  me  with  the  most  vehement  ex- 
hortations, severely  reproaching  me  for  my 
softness  and  want  of  fervor.  Finally,  one 
day  when  I  was  more  wretched  than  usual, 
he  said  to  me:  "  There  is  but  one  way  by 
which  you  can  obtain  relief  from  this  con- 
tinual torment,  and  though  it  is  an  extreme 


CLARIMONDE  I45 

measure  it  must  be  made  use  of;  violent 
diseases  require  violent  remedies.  I  know 
where  Clarimonde  is  buried.  It  is  necessary 
that  we  shall  disinter  her  remains,  and  that 
you  shall  behold  in  how  pitiable  a  state  the 
object  of  your  love  is.  Then  you  will  no 
longer  be  tempted  to  lose  your  soul  for  the 
sake  of  an  unclean  corpse  devoured  by 
worms,  and  ready  to  crumble  into  dust. 
That  will  assuredly  restore  you  to  yourself." 
For  my  part,  I  was  so  tired  of  this  double 
life  that  I  at  once  consented,  desiring  to 
ascertain  beyond  a  doubt  whether  a  priest 
or  a  gentleman  had  been  the  victim  of  delu- 
sion. I  had  become  fully  resolved  either  to 
kill  one  of  the  two  men  within  me  for  the 
benefit  of  the  other,  or  else  to  kill  both,  for 
so  terrible  an  existence  could  not  last  long 
and  be  endured.  The  Abbé  Sérapion  pro- 
vided himself  with  a  mattock,  a  lever,  and  a 
lantern,  and  at  midnight  we  wended  our  way 

to  the  cemetery  of  ,  the  location  and 

place  of  which  were  perfectly  familiar  to 
him.  After  having  directed  the  rays  of  the 
dark  lantern  upon  the  inscriptions  of  several 
tombs,  we  came  at  last  upon  a  great  slab, 


146  CLARIMONDE 

half  concealed  by  huge  weeds  and  devoured 
by  mosses  and  parasitic  plants,  whereupon 
we  deciphered  the  opening  lines  of  the 
epitaph  : 

Here  lies  Clarimonde 

Who  was  famed  in  her  life-time 

As  the  fairest  of  women.* 

"It  is  here  without  a  doubt/'  muttered 
Sérapion,  and  placing  his  lantern  on  the 
ground,  he  forced  the  point  of  the  lever 
under  the  edge  of  the  stone  and  commenced 
to  raise  it.  The  stone  yielded,  and  he  pro- 
ceeded to  work  with  the  mattock.  Darker 
and  more  silent  than  the  night  itself,  I  stood 
by  and  watched  him  do  it,  while  he,  bend- 
ing over  his  dismal  toil,  streamed  with  sweat, 
panted,  and  his  hard-coming  breath  seemed 
to  have  the  harsh  tone  of  a  death  rattle.  It 
was  a  weird  scene,  and  had  any  persons  from 

*  Ici  gît  Clarimonde 
Qui  fut  de  son  vivant 
La  plus  belle  du  monde. 

The  broken  beauty  of  the  lines  is  unavoidably  lost 
in  the  translation. 


CLARIMONDE  I47 

without  beheld  us,  they  would  assuredly 
have  taken  us  rather  for  profane  wretches 
and  shroud-stealers  than  for  priests  of  God. 
There  was  something  grim  and  fierce  in 
Sérapion's  zeal  which  lent  him  the  air  of  a 
demon  rather  than  of  an  apostle  or  an  angel, 
and  his  great  aquiline  face,  with  all  its  stern 
features  brought  out  in  strong  relief  by  the 
lantern-light,  had  something  fearsome  in  it 
which  enhanced  the  unpleasant  fancy.  I 
felt  an  icy  sweat  come  out  upon  my  fore- 
head in  huge  beads,  and  my  hair  stood  up 
with  a  hideous  fear.  Within  the  depths  of 
my  own  heart  I  felt  that  the  act  of  the  aus- 
tere Sérapion  was  an  abominable  sacrilege; 
and  I  could  have  prayed  that  a  triangle  of 
fire  would  issue  from  the  entrails  of  the  dark 
clouds,  heavily  rolling  above  us,  to  reduce 
him  to  cinders.  The  owls  which  had  been 
nestling  in  the  cypress-trees,  startled  by  the 
gleam  of  the  lantern,  flew  against  it  from 
time  to  time,  striking  their  dusty  wings 
against  its  panes,  and  uttering  plaintive  cries 
of  lamentation  ;  wild  foxes  yelped  in  the  far 
darkness,  and  a  thousand  sinister  noises  de- 
tached themselves  from  the  silence.     At  last 


148  CLARIMONDE 

Sérapion's  mattock  struck  the  coffin  itself, 
making  its  planks  reecho  with  a  deep  sono- 
rous sound,  with  that  terrible  sound  noth- 
ini^ness  utters  when  stricken.  He  wrenched 
apart  and  tore  up  the  lid,  and  I  beheld  Clari- 
monde,  pallid  as  a  figure  of  marble,  with 
hands  joined;  her  white  winding-sheet  made 
but  one  fold  from  her  head  to  her  feet.  A 
little  crimson  drop  sparkled  like  a  speck  of 
dew  at  one  corner  of  her  colorless  mouth. 
Sérapion,  at  this  spectacle,  burst  into  fury: 
"  Ah,  thou  art  here,  demon!  Impure  cour- 
tesan! Drinker  of  blood  and  gold!"  And 
he  flung  holy  water  upon  the  corpse  and  the 
coffin,  over  which  he  traced  the  sign  of  the 
cross  with  his  sprinkler.  Poor  Clarimonde 
had  no  sooner  been  touched  by  the  blessed 
spray  than  her  beautiful  body  crumbled  into 
dust,  and  became  only  a  shapeless  and 
frightful  mass  of  cinders  and  half-calcined 
bones. 

"  Behold  your  mistress,  my  Lord  Rom- 
uald!"  cried  the  inexorable  priest,  as  he 
pointed  to  these  sad  remains.  *'  Will  you 
be  easily  tempted  after  this  to  promenade 
on  the  Lido  or  at  Fusina  with  your  beauty  ?  " 


CLARIMONDE  I49 

I  covered  my  face  with  my  hands,  a  vast 
ruin  had  taken  place  within  me.  I  returned 
to  my  presbytery,  and  the  noble  Lord  Rom- 
uald,  the  lover  of  Clarimonde,  separated 
himself  from  the  poor  priest  with  whom  he 
had  kept  such  strange  company  so  long. 
But  once  only,  the  following  night,  I  saw 
Clarimonde.  She  said  to  me,  as  she  had  said 
the  first  time  at  the  portals  of  the  church: 
"Unhappy  man!  Unhappy  man!  What 
hast  thou  done  ?  Wherefore  have  hearkened 
to  that  imbecile  priest  ?  Wert  thou  not 
happy  ?  And  what  harm  had  I  ever  done 
thee  that  thou  shouldst  violate  my  poor 
tomb,  and  lay  bare  the  miseries  of  my  noth- 
ingness ?  All  communication  between  our 
souls  and  our  bodies  is  henceforth  forever 
broken.  Adieu  !  Thou  wilt  yet  regret  me  !  '  ' 
She  vanished  in  air  as  smoke,  and  I  never 
saw  her  more. 

Alas  !  she  spoke  truly  indeed.  I  have  re- 
gretted her  more  than  once,  and  I  regret  her 
still.  My  soul's  peace  has  been  very  dearly 
bought.  The  love  of  God  was  not  too  much 
to  replace  such  a  love  as  hers.  And  this, 
brother,  is  the  story  of  my  youth.     Never 


I50  CLARIMONDE 

gaze  upon  a  woman,  and  walk  abroad  only 
with  eyes  ever  fixed  upon  the  ground;  for 
however  chaste  and  watchful  one  may  be, 
the  error  of  a  single  moment  is  enough  to 
make  one  lose  eternity. 


Arria  Marcella 


ABBIÀI^IARCEILA 


A   SOUVENIR   OF   POMPEII 

Three  young  friends,  who  had  under- 
taken an  Italian  tour  together  last  year, 
visited  the  Studii  Museum  at  Naples,  where 
the  various  antique  objects  exhumed  from 
the  ashes  of  Pompeii  and  Herculaneum  have 
been  collected. 

They  scattered  through  the  halls,  inspect- 
ing the  mosaics,  the  bronzes,  the  frescoes 
detached  from  the  walls  of  the  dead  city, 
each  following  the  promptings  of  his  own 
particular  taste  in  such  matters  ;  and  when- 
ever one  of  the  party  encountered  something 
especially  curious,  he  summoned  his  com- 
rades with  cries  of  delight,  much  to  the  scan- 
dal of  the  taciturn  English  visitors,  and  the 


154  ARRIA   MARCELLA 

staid    bourgeois    who    studiously    thumbed 
their  catalogues. 

But  the  youngest  of  the  three,  who  had 
paused  before  a  glass  case,  appeared  wholly 
deaf  to  the  exclamations  of  his  comrades,  so 
deeply  had  he  become  absorbed  in  contem- 
plation. The  object  that  he  seemed  to  be 
examining  with  so  much  interest  was  a 
black  mass  of  coagulated  cinders,  bearing  a 
hollow  imprint.  One  might  easily  have  mis- 
taken it* for  the  fragment  of  some  statue- 
mould,  broken  in  the  casting.  The  trained 
eye  of  an  artist  would  have  readily  therein 
recognized  the  impression  of  a  perfect  bosom 
and  a  flank  as  faultless  in  its  outlines  as  a 
Greek  statue.  It  is  well  known,  indeed  the 
commonest  traveller's  guide  will  tell  you, 
that  this  lava,  in  cooling  about  the  body  of 
a  woman,  preserved  its  charming  contours. 
Thanks  to  the  caprice  of  the  eruption  that 
destroyed  four  cities,  that  noble  form, 
though  crumbled  to  dust  nearly  two  thou- 
sand years  ago,  has  come  down  to  us  ;  the 
rounded  loveliness  of  a  throat  has  lived 
through  the  centuries  in  which  so  many  em- 
pires   perished    without    even    leaving    the 


ARRIA  MARCELLA  1 55 

traces  of  their  existence;  chance-imprinted 
upon  the  volcanic  scoriae,  that  seal  of  beauty 
remains  unobliterated. 

Finding  that  he  still  remained  absorbed  in 
contemplation,  Octavian's  friends  returned 
to  where  he  stood  ;  and  Max,  touching  his 
shoulder,  caused  him  to  start  like  one  sur- 
prised in  a  secret.  Evidently  Octavian  had 
not  been  aware  of  the  approach  of  Max  or 
Fabio. 

"  Come,  Octavian,"  exclaimed  Max,  "  do 
not  stay  lingering  whole  hours  before  every 
cabinet,  else  we  shall  get  late  for  the  train 
and  miss  seeing  Pompeii  to-day." 

"What  is  our  comrade  looking  at?" 
asked  Fabio,  drawing  near.  "  Ah,  the  im- 
print found  in  the  house  of  Arrius  Dio- 
medes!"  And  he  turned  a  peculiar,  quick 
glance  upon  Octavian. 

Octavian  slightly  blushed,  took  Max's 
arm,  and  the  visit  terminated  without  fur- 
ther incident.  On  leaving  the  Studii  Mu- 
seum, the  three  friends  entered  a  corricolo^ 
and  were  driven  to  the  railway  station.  The 
corricolo,  with  its  great  red  wheels,  its  tracket 
seat  studded  with  brass  nails,  and  its  thin, 


IS6  ARRIA   MARCELLA 

spirited  horse  harnessed  like  a  Spanish  mule, 
and  galloping  at  full  speed  over  the  great 
slabs  of  lava  pavement,  is  too  familiar  to 
need  description  here,  especially  as  we  are 
not  recording  impressions  of  a  trip  to  Naples, 
but  the  simple  narrative  of  an  adventure 
which,  although  true,  may  seem  both  fan- 
tastic and  incredible  in  the  extreme. 

The  railroad  by  which  Pompeii  is  reached 
runs  for  almost  its  entire  length  by  the  sea, 
whose  long  volutes  of  foam  advance  to  un- 
roll themselves  upon  a  beach  of  blackish 
sand  resembling  sifted  charcoal.  This  beach 
has  actually  been  formed  by  lava-streams 
and  volcanic  cinders,  and  its  deep  tone  forms 
a  strong  contrast  with  the  blue  of  the  sky 
and  the  blue  of  the  waters.  The  earth  alone, 
in  that  sunny  brightness,  seems  able  to  re- 
tain a  shadow. 

The  villages  bordered  or  traversed  by  the 
railway — Portici,  celebrated  in  one  of  Au- 
ber's  operas  ;  Résina,  Torre  del  Grseco,  Torre 
deir  Annunziata,  whose  dwellings  with  their 
arcades  and  terraced  roofs  attract  the  travel- 
ler's gaze — have,  notwithstanding  the  inten- 
sity of  the  sunlight  and  the  southern  love 


ARRIA  MARCELLA  1 57 

for  whitewashing,  something  of  a  Plutonian 
and  ferruginous  character  like  Birmingham 
or  Manchester.  The  very  dust  is  black 
there.  An  impalpable  soot  clings  to  every- 
thing. One  feels  that  the  mighty  forge  of 
Vesuvius  is  panting  and  smoking  only  a  few 
paces  off. 

The  three  friends  left  the  station  at  Pom- 
peii, laughing  among  themselves  at  the  odd 
commingling  of  antique  and  modern  ideas 
suggested  by  the  sign,  '*  Pompeii  Station  " — 
a  Graeco-Roman  city  and  a  railway  depot  ! 

They  crossed  the  cotton-field,  with  its  flut- 
tering white  bolls,  between  the  railway  and 
the  disinterred  city,  and  at  the  inn  which 
has  been  built  just  without  the  ancient  ram- 
part they  took  a  guide,  or,  more  correctly 
speaking,  the  guide  took  them,  a  calamity 
which  is  not  easily  avoided  in  Italy. 

It  was  one  of  those  delightful  days  so  com- 
mon in  Naples,  when  the  brilliancy  of  the 
sunlight  and  the  transparency  of  the  air 
cause  objects  to  take  such  hues  as  in  the 
North  would  be  deemed  fabulous,  and  ap- 
pear indeed  to  belong  to  the  world  of  dreams 
rather  than  to  that  of  realities.     The  North- 


158  ARRIA  MARCELLA 

ern  visitor  who  has  once  looked  upon  that 
glow  of  azure  and  gold  is  apt  to  carry  back 
with  him  into  the  depths  of  his  native  fogs 
an  incurable  nostalgia. 

Having  shaken  off  a  corner  of  her  cinder 
shroud,  the  resurrected  city  again  rose  with 
her  thousand  details  under  a  dazzling  day. 
The  cone  of  Vesuvius,  furrowed  with  striae 
of  blue,  rosy,  and  violet-hued  lavas,  ruddily 
bronzed  by  the  sun,  towered  sharply  defined 
in  the  background.  A  thin  haze,  almost 
imperceptible  in  the  sunlight,  hooded  the 
blunt  crest  of  the  mountain.  At  first  sight 
it  might  have  been  taken  for  one  of  those 
clouds  which  shadow  the  brows  of  lofty 
peaks  on  the  fairest  days.  Upon  a  nearer 
view,  slender  threads  of  white  vapor  could 
be  perceived  rising  from  the  mountain-sum- 
mit, as  from  the  orifices  of  a  perfuming  pan, 
to  reunite  above  in  a  light  cloud.  The  vol- 
cano, being  that  day  in  a  good  humor, 
smoked  his  pipe  very  peacefully;  and  but 
for  the  example  of  Pompeii,  buried  at  his 
feet,  no  one  would  ever  have  suspected  him 
of  being  by  nature  any  more  ferocious  than 
Montmartre.     On  the  other  side  fair  hills, 


ARRIA   MARCELLA  I59 

with  outlines  voluptuously  undulating  like 
the  hips  of  a  woman,  barred  the  horizon  ; 
and,  further  yet,  the  sea,  that  in  other  days 
bore  biremes  and  triremes  under  the  ram- 
parts of  the  city,  extended  its  azure  bound- 
ary. 

Of  all  spectacles,  the  sight  of  Pompeii  is 
one  of  the  most  surprising.  This  sudden 
backward  leap  of  nineteen  centuries  aston- 
ishes even  the  least  comprehensive  and  most 
prosaic  natures.  Two  paces  lead  you  from 
the  antique  life  to  the  life  of  to-day,  and 
from  Christianity  to  paganism.  Thus,  when 
the  three  friends  beheld  those  streets  wherein 
the  forms  of  a  vanished  past  are  preserved 
yet  intact,  they  were  strangely  and  pro- 
foundly affected,  however  well  prepared  by 
the  study  of  books  and  drawings  they  might 
have  been.  Octavian,  above  all,  seemed 
stricken  with  stupefaction,  and  like  a  man 
walking  in  his  sleep,  mechanically  followed 
the  guide,  without  hearing  the  monotonous 
nomenclature  that  the  varlet  had  learned  by 
heart  and  recited  like  a  lesson. 

He  gazed  wildly  on  those  ruts  hollowed 
out  in  the  Cyclopean  pavements  of  the  streets 


l6o  ARRIA   MARCELLA 

by  the  chariot  wheels,  and  which  seem  to 
be  of  yesterday,  so  fresh  do  they  appear; 
those  inscriptions  in  red  letters  skilfully 
traced  upon  the  surfaces  of  the  walls  by 
rapid  strokes  of  the  brush  (theatrical  adver- 
tisements, notices  of  houses  to  let,  votive 
formulas,  signs,  announcements  of  all  de- 
scriptions, not  less  curious  than  a  freshly 
discovered  fragment  of  the  walls  of  Paris, 
with  advertising  bills  and  placards  attached, 
would  prove  a  thousand  years  hence  for  the 
unknown  people  of  the  future)  ;  those  houses, 
whose  shattered  roofs  permit  one  to  pene- 
trate at  a  glance  into  all  those  interior  mys- 
teries, all  those  domestic  details  which  his- 
torians invariably  neglect,  and  whereof  the 
secrets  die  with  dying  civilizations;  those 
fountains  that  even  now  seem  scarcely  dried 
up  ;  that  forum  whose  restoration  was  inter- 
rupted by  the  great  catastrophe,  and  whose 
architraves  and  columns,  all  ready  cut  and 
sculptured,  still  seem  waiting  in  their  purity 
of  angle  to  be  lifted  into  place;  those  tem- 
ples, consecrated,  in  that  mythologie  age 
when  atheists  were  yet  unknown,  to  gods 
that  have  long  ceased  to  be;  those  shops 


ARRIA   MARCELLA  l6l 

wherein  the  merchant  only  is  missing;  that 
public  tavern  where  may  still  be  seen  the 
circular  stain  of  the  drinking  cups  upon  the 
marble;  that  barracks  with  its  ochre  and 
minium-painted  columns,  on  which  the  sol- 
diers scratched  grotesque  caricatures  of  bat- 
tle, and  those  juxtaposed  double  theatres 
of  song  and  drama  which  might  even  now 
resume  their  entertainments,  were  not  the 
companies  who  performed  in  them  turned 
long  since  to  clay,  and  at  present  occupied 
perchance  in  closing  the  bunghole  of  a  cask 
or  stopping  a  crevice  in  the  wall,  after  the 
fashion  of  Alexander's  ashes  or  Caesar's  dust, 
according  to  the  melancholy  reflections  of 
Hamlet! 

Fabio  mounted  upon  the  thymele  of  the 
tragic  theatre  while  Max  and  Octavian 
climbed  to  the  upper  benches;  and  there, 
with  extravagant  gestures,  he  commenced 
to  recite  whatever  poetical  fragments  came 
to  his  memory,  much  to  the  terror  of  the 
lizards,  who  fled,  vibrating  their  tails,  and 
hid  themselves  in  the  joints  of  the  ruined 
stonework.  Although  the  brazen  or  earthen 
vessels  formerly  used  to  reverberate  sounds 


102  ARRIA  MARCELLA 

no  longer  existed,  Fabio's  voice  sounded 
none  the  less  full  and  vibrant. 

The  guide  then  conducted  them  across  the 
open  fields  which  overlie  those  portions  of 
Pompeii  still  buried,  to  the  amphitheatre 
situated  at  the  other  end  of  the  city.  They 
passed  under  those  trees  whose  roots  plunge 
down  through  the  roofs  of  the  edifices  in- 
terred, displacing  tiles,  cleaving  ceilings 
asunder,  and  disjointing  columns;  and  they 
traversed  the  farms  where  vulgar  vegetables 
sprout  above  wonders  of  art — material  im- 
ages of  that  oblivion  wherewith  time  covers 
all  things. 

The  amphitheatre  caused  them  little  sur- 
prise. They  had  seen  that  of  Verona,  vaster 
and  equally  well  preserved;  besides,  the 
arrangement  of  such  antique  arenas  was  as 
familiar  to  them  as  that  of  those  in  which 
bull-fights  are  held  in  Spain,  and  which  they 
much  resemble  save  in  solidity  of  construc- 
tion and  beauty  of  material. 

Accordingly  they  soon  retraced  their  foot- 
steps and  gained  the  Street  of  Fortune  by  a 
cross-path,  listening  half-distractedly  to  the 
cicerone^  who  named  each  house  they  passed 


ARRIA   MARCELLA  163 

by  the  name  which  had  been  given  it  imme- 
diately upon  its  discovery,  owing  to  some 
characteristic  peculiarity — the  House  of  the 
Brazen  Bull,  the  House  of  the  Faun,  the 
House  of  the  Ship,  the  Temple  of  Fortune, 
the  House  of  Meleager,  the  Tavern  of  For- 
tune, at  the  angle  of  the  Consular  Road  (Via 
Consularia),  the  Academy  of  Music,  the 
Public  Market,  the  Pharmacy,  the  Surgeon's 
Shop,  the  Custom  House,  the  House  of 
the  Vestals,  the  Inn  of  Albifius,  the  Ther- 
mopolium,  and  so  on — until  they  came  to 
that  gate  which  leads  to  the  Street  of  the 
Tombs. 

Within  the  interior  arch  of  this  brick-built 
gate,  once  adorned  with  statues  which  have 
long  since  disappeared,  may  be  noticed  two 
deep  grooves  designed  to  receive  a  sliding 
portcullis,  after  the  style  of  a  mediaeval  don- 
jon, to  which  era,  indeed,  one  might  have 
supposed  such  a  defence  peculiar. 

"  Who,"  exclaimed  Max  to  his  friends, 
"  could  have  dreamed  of  finding  in  Pompeii, 
the  Graeco-Latin  city,  a  gate  so  romantically 
Gothic  ?  Fancy  some  belated  Roman  knight 
blowing  his  horn  before  this  entrance,  sum- 


1 64  ARRIA   MARCELLA 

moning  them  to  raise  the  portcullis,  like  a 
page  of  the  fifteenth  century!  " 

"  There  is  nothing  new  under  the  sun," 
replied  Fabio;  "and  the  aphorism  itself  is 
not  new,  inasmuch  as  it  was  formulated  by 
Solomon." 

**  Perhaps  there  may  be  something  new 
under  the  moon,"  observed  Octavian,  with 
a  smile  of  melancholy  irony. 

"  My  dear  Octavian,"  cried  Max,  who 
during  this  little  conversation  had  paused 
before  an  inscription  traced  in  rubric  upon 
the  outer  wall,  "  wilt  behold  the  combats 
of  the  gladiators  ?  See  the  advertisement  ! 
Combat  and  chase  on  the  5th  day  of  the 
nones  of  April  ;  the  masts  of  the  velarium 
will  be  rigged;  twenty  pairs  of  gladiators 
will  fight  during  the  nones;  if  you  fear  for 
the  delicacy  of  your  complexion,  be  assured 
that  the  awnings  will  be  spread  ;  and  as  you 
might  in  any  case  prefer  to  visit  the  amphi- 
theatre early,  these  men  will  cut  each  other's 
throats  in  the  morning — matutini  erunt. 
Nothing  could  be  more  considerate." 

Thus  chatting,  the  three  friends  followed 
that  sepulchre-fringed  road  which,  according 


ARRIA   MARCELLA  165 

to  our  modern  ideas,  would  be  a  lugubrious 
avenue  for  any  city,  but  which  had  no  sad 
significations  for  the  ancients,  whose  tombs 
contained  in  lieu  of  hideous  corpses  only 
a  pinch  of  dust — abstract  idea  of  death  ! 
Art  beautified  these  last  resting-places, 
and,  as  Goethe  says,  the  pagan  decorated 
sarcophagi  and  funeral  urns  with  the  images 
of  life. 

It  was  therefore,  doubtless,  that  Fabio 
and  Max  could  visit,  with  a  lively  curiosity 
and  a  joyous  sense  of  being,  such  as  they 
could  not  have  felt  in  any  Christian  ceme- 
tery, those  funeral  monuments,  all  gayly 
gilded  by  the  sun,  which,  as  they  stood  by 
the  wayside,  seemed  still  trying  to  cling  to 
life,  and  inspired  none  of  those  chill  feelings 
of  repulsion,  none  of  those  fantastic  terrors 
evoked  by  our  modern  dismal  places  of  sepul- 
ture. They  paused  before  the  tomb  of 
Mammia,  the  public  priestess,  near  which  a 
tree  (either  a  cypress  or  a  willow)  is  grow- 
ing; they  seated  themselves  in  the  hémi- 
cycle of  the  triclinium,  where  the  funeral 
feasts  were  held,  laughing  like  fortunate 
heirs;    they  read  with  mock  solemnity  the 


l66  ARRIA   MARCELLA 

epitaphs  of  Navoleia,  Labeon,  and  the  Arria 
family,  silently  followed  by  Octavian,  who 
seemed  more  deeply  touched  than  his  care- 
less companions  by  the  fate  of  those  dead  of 
two  thousand  years  ago. 

Thus  they  came  to  the  villa  of  Arrius 
Diomedes,  one  of  the  finest  residences  in 
Pompeii.  It  is  approached  by  a  flight  of 
brick  steps,  and  after  entering  the  door-way, 
which  is  flanked  by  two  small  lateral  col- 
umns, one  finds  himself  in  a  court  resem- 
bling the  patio  which  occupies  the  centre  of 
Spanish  and  Moorish  dwellings,  and  which 
the  ancients  termed  impluvium  oi'  cavœdium. 
Fourteen  columns  of  brick,  overlaid  with 
stucco,  once  supported  on  four  sides  a  por- 
tico or  covered  peristyle,  not  unlike  a  con- 
vent cloister,  and  beneath  which  one  could 
walk  secure  from  the  rain.  This  courtyard 
is  paved  in  mosaic  with  brick  and  white  mar- 
ble, which  presents  a  subdued  and  pleasing 
effect  of  color.  In  its  centre  a  quadrilateral 
marble  basin,  which  still  exists,  formerly 
caught  the  rain-water  that  dripped  from  the 
roof  of  the  portico.  It  was  a  strange  ex- 
perience, entering  thus  into  the  life  of  the 


ARRIA   MARCELLA  167 

antique  world,  and  treading  with  well- 
blacked  boots  upon  the  marbles  worn  smooth 
by  the  sandals  and  buskins  of  the  contem- 
poraries of  Augustus  and  Tiberius. 

The  cicerone  led  them  through  the  exedra 
or  summer  parlor,  which  opened  to  the  sea, 
to  receive  its  cooling  breezes.  It  was  there 
that  the  family  received  company,  and  took 
their  siesta  during  those  burning  hours  when 
prevailed  the  mighty  zephyr  of  Africa,  laden 
with  languors  and  storms.  He  brought 
them  into  the  basilica,  a  long  open  gallery 
which  lighted  the  various  apartments,  and  in 
which  clients  and  visitors  erst  awaited  the 
call  of  the  Nomenclator.  Then  he  con- 
ducted them  to  the  white  marble  terrace, 
whence  extended  a  broad  view  of  verdant 
gardens  and  blue  sea.  Then  he  showed 
them  the  Nyrnphœîim,  or  Hall  of  Baths,  with 
its  yellow-painted  walls,  its  stucco  columns, 
its  mosaic  pavement,  and  its  marble  bathing- 
basin  which  had  contained  so  many  of  the 
lovely  bodies  that  have  long  since  passed 
away  like  shadows;  the  cubiculum,  where 
flitted  so  many  dreams  from  the  Ivory  Gate, 
and    whose   alcoves   contrived    in    the    wall 


l68  ARRIA  MARCELLA 

were  once  closed  by  a  conopeum  or  curtain, 
of  which  the  bronze  rings  still  lie  upon  the 
floor  ;  the  tetrastyle,  or  Hall  of  Recreation  ; 
the  Chapel  of  the  Lares;  the  Cabinet  of 
Archives;  the  Library;  the  Museum  of 
Paintings;  th.Q  gynœceum  or  women's  apart- 
ment, comprising  a  suite  of  small  chambers, 
now  half  fallen  into  ruin,  but  whose  walls 
yet  bear  traces  of  paintings  and  arabesques, 
like  fair  cheeks  from  which  the  rouge  has 
been  but  half  wiped  off. 

Having  fully  inspected  all  these,  they  de- 
scended to  the  lower  floor,  for  the  ground  is 
much  lower  on  the  garden  side  than  it  is  on 
the  side  of  the  Street  of  the  Tombs.  They 
traversed  eight  halls  painted  in  antique  red, 
whereof  one  has  its  walls  hollowed  with 
architectural  niches,  after  that  style  of  which 
we  have  to-day  a  good  example  in  the  vesti- 
bule of  the  Hall  of  the  Ambassadors  at  the 
Alhambra,  and  finally  they  came  to  a  sort 
of  cave  or  cellar,  whose  purpose  was  clearly 
indicated  by  eight  earthen  amphorae  propped 
up  against  the  wall,  and  once  perfumed, 
doubtless,  like  the  odes  of  Horace  with  the 
wines  of  Crete,  Falernia,  or  Massica. 


ARRIA   MARCELLA  169 

One  solitary  bright  ray  of  sunshine 
streamed  through  a  narrow  aperture  above, 
half  choked  by  nettles,  whose  light-traversed 
leaves  it  transformed  into  emeralds  and  to- 
pazes, and  this  gay  natural  detail  seemed  to 
smile  opportunely  through  the  sadness  of 
the  place. 

**  It  was  here,"  observed  the  cicerone,  in 
his  customary  indifferent  tone,  '*  that  among 
seventeen  others  was  found  the  skeleton  of 
the  lady  whose  mould  is  exhibited  at  the 
Naples  Museum.  She  wore  gold  rings,  and 
the  shreds  of  her  fine  tunic  still  clung  to  the 
mass  of  cinders  which  have  preserved  her 
shape." 

The  guide's  commonplace  phrases  deeply 
affected  Octavian.  He  made  the  man  point 
out  to  him  the  exact  spot  where  the  pre- 
cious remains  had  been  discovered,  and  had 
it  not  been  for  the  restraining  presence  of 
his  friends,  he  would  have  abandoned  him- 
self to  some  extravagant  lyrism.  His  chest 
heaved,  his  eyes  glistened  with  a  furtive 
moisture.  Though  blotted  out  by  twenty 
centuries  of  oblivion,  that  catastrophe 
touched  him  like  a  recent  misfortune.     Not 


I70  ARRIA   MARCELLA 

even  the  death  of  a  mistress  or  a  friend  could 
have  affected  him  more  profoundly;  and 
Avhile  Max  and  Fabio  had  their  backs  turned, 
a  tear,  two  thousand  years  late,  fell  upon 
the  spot  where  that  woman,  with  whom  he 
felt  he  had  fallen  retrospectively  in  love,  had 
perished,  suffocated  by  the  hot  cinders  of 
the  volcano. 

Enough  of  this  archaeology,"  cried  Fa- 
bio. "  We  do  not  propose  to  write  disserta- 
tions upon  an  ancient  jug  or  a  tile  of  the  age 
of  Julius  Caesar  in  order  to  obtain  member- 
ships in  some  provincial  academy.  These 
classic  souvenirs  give  me  the  stomachache. 
Let  us  go  to  dinner — if  such  a  thing  be  pos- 
sible— in  that  picturesque  hostelry,  where  I 
fear  we  shall  be  served  with  fossil  beefsteaks 
and  fresh  eggs  laid  prior  to  the  death  of 
Pliny." 

**  I  will  not  exclaim  with  Boileau  : 


Un  sot,  quelquefois,  ouvre  un  avis  important 


I  It 


exclaimed  Max,  with  a  laugh.  **  That 
would  be  ill-mannered,  but  your  idea  is  a 
good  one.     Still,  I  think  it  would  have  been 


ARRIA    MARCELLA  171 

pleasant  to  banquet  here,  on  some  triclini- 
um, reclining  after  the  antique  fashion,  and 
waited  upon  by  slaves  according  to  the  style 
of  LucuUus  or  Trimalchio.  It  is  true  that  I 
see  no  oysters  from  Lake  Lucrinus,  the  tur- 
bots and  mullets  from  the  Adriatic  are  want- 
ing, the  Apuleian  boar  cannot  be  had  in 
market,  and  the  loaves  and  honey-cakes  on 
exhibition  in  the  Naples  Museum  lie,  hard 
as  stones,  beside  their  green-gray  moulds. 
Even  raw  macaroni  sprinkled  with  caccia- 
cavallo,  detestable  as  it  may  be,  is  certainly 
better  than  nothing.  What  does  friend  Oc- 
tavian  think  about  it  ?  " 

Octavian,  who  was  deeply  regretting  that 
he  had  not  happened  to  be  in  Pompeii  on 
the  day  of  the  eruption,  so  that  he  might 
have  saved  the  lady  of  the  gold  rings,  and 
thereby  merited  her  love,  had  not  heard  a 
syllable  of  this  gastronomic  conversation. 
Only  the  last  two  words  uttered  by  Max  had 
fallen  upon  his  ears,  and  feeling  no  desire  to 
broach  a  discussion,  he  gave  a  random  nod 
of  assent,  upon  which  the  amicable  party  re- 
traced the  road  along  the  ramparts  to  the  inn. 

The  table  was  placed  under  a  sort  of  open 


172  ARRIA   MARCELLA 

porch  which  served  as  a  vestibule  to  the  hos- 
telry, whose  rough  cast  walls  were  decorated 
with  various  daubs  that  the  host  entitled 
**  Salvator  Rosa,"  "  Espagnolet,"  "  Cav- 
alier Massimo,"  and  other  celebrated  names 
of  the  Neapolitan  School,  which  he  deemed 
himself  bound  to  extol. 

"  Venerable  host,"  cried  Fabio,  "  do  not 
waste  your  eloquence  to  no  purpose.  We 
are  not  Englishmen,  and  we  prefer  young 
women  to  old  canvases.  Better  send  us 
your  wine-list  by  that  handsome  brunette 
with  the  velvety  eyes  whom  I  just  now  per- 
ceived on  the  stairway." 

Finding  that  his  guests  did  not  belong  to 
the  mystifiable  class  of  Philistines  and  bour- 
geois, the  palforio  ceased  to  vaunt  his  gal- 
lery in  order  to  glorify  his  cellar.  To  begin 
with,  he  had  all  the  best  vintages  :  Château 
Margaux,  Grand  Lafitte  which  had  been 
twice  to  the  Indies,  Sillery  de  Moët,  Hoch- 
meyer,  scarlet  wine,  port  and  porter,  ale 
and  ginger  beer,  white  and  red  Lachryma- 
Christi,  Caprian,  and  Falernian. 

"  What,  you  have  Falernian  wine,  a7iinial ! 
And  put  it  at  the  end  of  your  list  !     And  you 


ARRIA   MARCELLA  173 

dare  to  subject  us  to  an  unendurable  œno- 
logical  litany!"  cried  Max,  leaping  at  the 
inn-keeper's  throat  with  burlesque  fury. 
*'  Why,  you  have  no  sentiment  of  local  col- 
or. You  are  unworthy  to  live  in  this  an- 
tique neighborhood.  Is  it  even  good,  this 
Falernian  wine  of  yours  ?  Was  it  put  in 
amphora  under  the  Consul  Plancus — Con- 
sule  Plaiico  f  *  ' 

"  I  know  nothing  about  the  Consul  Plan- 
cus, and  my  wine  is  not  put  in  amphorae, 
but  it  is  good,  and  worth  ten  carlins  a  bot- 
tle," answered  the  inn-keeper. 

Day  had  faded  away  and  the  night  came, 
a  serene,  transparent  night,  clearer,  as- 
suredly, than  full  midday  in  London.  The 
earth  had  tints  of  azure,  and  the  sky  silvery 
reflections  of  inconceivable  sweetness.  The 
air  was  so  still  that  the  flames  of  the  candles 
on  the  table  did  not  oscillate. 

A  young  boy,  playing  a  flute,  approached 
the  table,  and  standing  there,  with  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  three  guests,  performed  upon 
his  sweet  and  melodious  instrument,  one  of 
those  popular  airs  in  a  minor  key  which  have 
a  penetrating  charm. 


174  ARRIA   MARCELLA 

Perhaps  that  lad  was  a  direct  descendant 
of  the  flute-player  who  marched  before 
Duilius. 

"  Our  repast  is  assuming  quite  an  antique 
aspect.  We  only  need  some  Gaditanian 
dancing  women  and  ivy  garlands,"  ex- 
claimed Max,  as  he  helped  himself  to  a 
great  bumper  of  Falernian  wine. 

**  I  feel  myself  in  the  humor  for  making 
Latin  quotations  like  a  feuilleton  in  the 
Débats.  Stanzas  of  odes  come  back  to  my 
memory,"  added  Max. 

"Keep  them  to  yourself!"  cried  Fabio 
and  Octavian,  justly  alarmed.  "  Nothing 
is  so  indigestible  as  Latin  at  dinner." 

Among  young  men  with  cigars  in  their 
mouths  and  elbows  on  the  table,  who  find 
themselves  contemplating  a  certain  number 
of  empty  flagons,  especially  when  the  wine 
has  been  capitally  good,  conversation  never 
fails  to  turn  upon  women.  Each  explained 
his  own  system,  whereof  the  following  is  a 
fair  summary: 

Fabio  cared  only  for  youth  and  beauty. 
Voluptuous  and  positive,  he  found  no  plea- 
sure in  illusions,  and  had  no  preferences  in 


ARRIA   MARCELLA  175 

love.  A  peasant  girl  would  have  pleased 
his  fancy  as  well  as  a  princess,  provided  she 
were  beautiful.  The  body  rather  than  its 
apparel  attracted  him.  He  laughed  much 
at  certain  of  his  friends  who  were  enamored 
of  so  many  yards  of  lace  and  silk,  and  he 
declared  it  were  more  rational  to  fall  in  love 
with  the  stock  of  a  fashionable  marchand  des 
nouveautés.  These  opinions,  which  were 
rational  enough  in  the  main,  and  which  he 
made  no  attempt  to  conceal,  caused  him  to 
pass  for  an  eccentric. 

Max,  less  of  an  artist  than  Fabio,  cared 
only  for  difïicult  undertakings,  complicated 
intrigues.  He  sought  resistances  to  van- 
quish, virtues  to  seduce,  and  played  at  love 
as  at  a  game  of  chess,  with  long-premedi- 
tated moves,  reserved  ambuscades,  and 
stratagems  worthy  of  Polybius.  In  a  draw- 
ing-room he  would  always  choose  the  woman 
who  seemed  least  in  sympathy  with  him  for 
the  object  of  attack.  To  make  her  pass  by 
skilful  transition  from  aversion  to  love 
afforded  him  delicious  pleasure.  To  impose 
himself  upon  characters  which  strove  to 
repel  him,   and  master  wills   that  rebelled 


176  ARRIA   MARCELLA 

against  his  influence,  seemed  to  him  the 
sweetest  of  all  triumphs.  Like  those  hun- 
ters who,  through  rain,  sunshine,  or  snow, 
through  fields  and  woods,  and  over  plains, 
pursue  with  excessive  fatigue  and  uncon- 
querable ardor  some  miserable  quarry  which 
in  three  cases  out  of  four  they  would  not 
deign  to  eat,  so  Max,  having  once  captured 
his  prey,  troubled  himself  no  further  about 
it,  and  at  once  started  off  on  another  chase. 
As  for  Octavian,  he  confessed  that  reality 
itself  had  little  charm  for  him,  not  because 
he  indulged  in  student-dreams,  all  moulded 
of  lilies  and  roses  like  one  of  Demoustier's 
madrigals,  but  because  there  were  too  many 
prosaic  and  repulsive  details  surrounding  all 
beauty,  too  many  doting  and  decorated 
fathers,  coquettish  mothers  who  wore  nat- 
ural flowers  in  false  hair,  ruddy-faced  cousins 
meditating  proposals,  ridiculous  aunts  in 
love  with  little  dogs.  An  acquatinta  engrav- 
ing after  Horace  Vernet  or  Delaroche,  hung 
up  in  a  woman's  room,  would  have  been 
sufficient  to  check  a  growing  passion  within 
him.  More  poetical  even  than  amorous,  he 
wanted   a  terrace   on    Isola-Bella,   in    Lake 


ARRIA  MARCELLA  177 

Maggiore,  under  the  light  of  a  full  moon  to 
frame  a  rendezvous.  He  would  have  wished 
to  elevate  his  love  above  the  midst  of  com- 
mon life,  and  transport  its  scenes  to  the 
stars.  Thus  he  had  by  turns  fallen  fruit- 
lessly and  madly  in  love  with  all  the  grand 
feminine  types  preserved  by  history  or  art. 
Like  Faust,  he  had  loved  Helen,  and  would 
have  wished  that  the  undulations  of  the  ages 
might  bear  to  him  one  of  those  sublime  per- 
sonifications of  human  desires  and  dreams, 
whose  forms,  to  mortal  eyes  invisible,  live 
immortally  beyond  Space  and  Time.  He 
had  created  for  himself  an  ideal  seraglio, 
with  Semiramis,  Aspasia,  Cleopatra,  Diana 
of  Poitiers,  Jane  of  Arragon.  At  times  also 
he  had  fallen  in  love  with  statues,  and  one 
day,  passing  before  the  Venus  of  Milo  in  the 
Museum,  he  cried  out  passionately:  "  Oh, 
who  will  restore  thy  arms  that  thou  may'st 
crush  me  upon  thy  marble  bosom!"  At 
Rome,  the  sight  of  a  matted  mass  of  long 
thick  human  hair,  exhumed  from  an  antique 
tomb,  had  thrown  him  into  a  fantastic  de- 
lirium. He  had  attempted,  through  the 
medium  of  a  few  of  those  hairs,  obtained  by 


1/8  ARRIA   MARCELLA 

a  golden  bribe  from  the  custodian,  and 
placed  in  the  hands  of  a  clairvoyant  of  great 
power,  to  evoke  the  shade  and  form  of  the 
dead  ;  but  the  conducting  fluid — the  subtle 
odyle — had  evaporated  during  the  lapse  of 
so  many  years,  and  the  apparition  could  no 
more  come  forth  out  of  the  eternal  night. 

As  Fabio  had  divined  before  the  glass 
cabinet  in  the  Studii  Museum,  the  imprint 
discovered  in  the  cellar  at  the  villa  of  Arrius 
Diomedes  had  excited  in  Octavian  wild  im- 
pulses toward  a  retrospective  ideal.  He 
longed  to  soar  beyond  Life  and  Time  and 
transport  himself  in  spirit  to  the  age  of 
Titus. 

Max  and  Fabio  retired  to  their  room,  and 
being  somewhat  heavy-headed  from  the 
classic  fumes  of  the  Falernian,  were  soon 
sound  asleep.  Octavian,  who  had  more 
than  once  suffered  the  full  glass  to  remain 
before  him  untasted,  not  wishing  to  disturb 
by  a  grosser  intoxication  the  poetic  drunken- 
ness which  boiled  in  his  brain,  felt  from  the 
agitation  of  his  nerves  that  sleep  would  not 
come  to  him,  and  left  the  hostelry  on  tiptoe 


ARRIA   MARCELLA  1 79 

that  he  might  cool  his  brow  and  cahn  his 
thoughts  in  the  night  air. 

His  feet  bore  him  unawares  to  the  en- 
trance which  leads  into  the  dead  city.  He 
removed  the  wooden  bar  that  closed  it,  and 
wandered  into  the  ruins  beyond. 

The  moon  illuminated  the  pale  houses 
with  her  white  beams,  dividing  the  streets 
into  double-edged  lines  of  silvery  white  and 
bluish  shadow.  This  nocturnal  day,  with 
its  subdued  tints,  disguised  the  degradation 
of  the  buildings.  The  mutilated  columns, 
the  façades  streaked  with  fugitive  lizards, 
the  roofs  crumbled  in  by  the  eruption,  were 
less  noticeable  than  when  beheld  under  the 
clear,  raw  light  of  the  sun.  The  lost  parts 
were  completed  by  the  half-tint  of  shadow, 
and  here  and  there  one  brusque  beam  of 
light,  like  a  touch  of  sentiment  in  a  picture- 
sketch,  marked  where  a  whole  edifice  had 
crumbled  away.  The  silent  genii  of  the 
night  seemed  to  have  repaired  the  fossil  city 
for  some  representation  of  fantastic  life. 

At  times  Octavian  fancied  that  he  saw 
vague  human  forms  in  the  shadow,  but  they 
vanished  the  moment  they  approached  the 


l8o  ARRIA   MARCELLA 

edge  of  the  lighted  portion  of  the  street.  A 
low  whispering,  an  indefinite  hum,  floated 
through  the  silence.  Our  promenader  at 
first  attributed  them  to  a  fluttering  in  his 
eyes,  to  a  buzzing  in  his  ears;  it  might  even, 
he  thought,  be  merely  an  optical  delusion, 
coupled  with  the  sighing  of  the  sea-breezes, 
or  the  flight  of  some  snake  or  lizard  through 
the  nettles,  for  in  nature  all  things  live,  even 
death;  all  things  make  themselves  heard, 
even  silence.  Nevertheless  he  felt  a  kind  of 
involuntary  terror,  a  slight  trembling,  that 
might  have  been  caused  by  the  cold  night 
air,  but  which  made  his  flesh  creep.  Could 
it  be  that  his  comrades,  actuated  by  the 
same  impulses  as  himself,  were  seeking  him 
among  the  ruins  ?  Those  dimly  seen  forms 
and  those  indistinct  sounds  of  footsteps! 
Might  it  not  have  been  only  Max  and  Fabio 
walking  and  chatting  together,  who  had  just 
disappeared  round  the  corner  of  a  cross- 
road ?  But  Octavian  felt  to  his  dismay  that 
this  very  natural  explanation  could  not  be 
true,  and  the  arguments  which  he  made  to 
himself  in  favor  of  it  were  the  reverse  of 
convincing.     The  solitude  and  the  shadow 


ARRIA  MARCELLA  l8l 

were  peopled  with  invisible  beings  whom  he 
was  disturbing.  He  had  fallen  into  the 
midst  of  a  mystery,  and  it  seemed  that  they 
were  awaiting  his  departure  in  order  to  com- 
mence again.  Such  were  the  extravagant 
ideas  that  floated  through  his  brain,  and  ob- 
tained no  little  verisimilitude  from  the  hour, 
the  place,  and  the  thousand  alarming  details 
which  those  can  well  understand  who  have 
ever  found  themselves  alone  by  night  in  the 
midst  of  some  vast  ruin. 

Passing  before  a  house  which  he  had  at- 
tentively observed  during  the  day,  and  which 
the  moon  shone  fully  upon,  he  beheld  in 
perfect  integrity  a  certain  portico  whereof 
he  had  vainly  attempted  to  restore  the  de- 
sign in  fancy.  Four  Ionic  columns — fluted 
for  half  their  height  and  their  shafts  purple- 
robed  with  minium  tints — sustained  a  cyma- 
tium  adorned  with  polychromatic  ornaments 
that  the  artist  seemed  only  to  have  com- 
pleted the  day  before.  Upon  one  side  wall 
of  the  entrance  a  Laconian  molossus,  painted 
in  encaustic,  and  accompanied  by  the  warn- 
ing inscription  '*  Cave  canem,''  barked  at  the 
moon   and   the  visitor  with  pictured  fury. 


1 82  ARRIA   MARCELLA 

On  the  mosaic  threshold  the  word  HAVE, 
in  Oscan  and  Latin  characters,  saluted  the 
guest  with  its  friendly  syllables.  The  outer 
surfaces  of  the  walls,  tinted  with  ochre  and 
rubric,  were  unmarred  by  a  single  crack. 
The  house  had  grown  a  story  higher;  and 
the  tiled  roof,  now  surmounted  by  a  bronze 
acroterium,  projected  an  intact  outline 
against  the  light  blue  of  the  sky,  where  a 
few  stars  were  growing  pale. 

This  strange  restoration  effected  between 
afternoon  and  evening  by  some  unknown 
architect  greatly  puzzled  Octavian,  who  felt 
certain  of  having  the  same  day  seen  that 
very  house  in  a  lamentable  state  of  ruin. 
The  mysterious  reconstructor  had  labored 
with  great  despatch,  for  all  the  neighboring 
dwellings  had  the  same  fresh,  new  look;  all 
the  pillars  were  coiffed  with  their  capitals; 
not  a  single  stone,  a  brick,  a  pellicle  of 
stucco  or  a  scale  of  paint  was  wanting  upon 
the  shining  surfaces  of  the  façades;  and 
through  the  intervals  of  the  peristyles  sur- 
rounding the  marble  basin  of  the  cavasdium 
one  could  catch  glimpses  of  white  laurels 
and   bayroses,   myrtles   and   pomegranates. 


ARRIA   MARCELLA  1 83 

Surely  all  the  historians  were  mistaken  ;  the 
eruption  had  never  taken  place,  or  else  the 
needle  of  Time  had  moved  backward  twenty 
secular  hours  upon  the  dial  of  Eternity  ! 

In  the  climax  of  his  astonishment,  Octa- 
vian  commenced  to  wonder  whether  he 
might  not  actually  be  sleeping  upon  his  feet, 
and  walking  in  a  dream.  He  even  seriously 
asked  himself  whether  madness  might  not 
be  parading  its  hallucinations  before  his 
eyes;  but  he  soon  felt  himself  compelled 
to  admit  that  he  was  neither  asleep  nor 
mad. 

A  singular  change  had  taken  place  in  the 
atmosphere.  Vague  rose-tints  were  blend- 
ing through  brightening  shades  of  violet  with 
the  faintly  azure  tints  of  moonlight  ;  the  sky 
commenced  to  glow  brightly  along  its  bor- 
ders; daylight  seemed  about  to  dawn.  Oc- 
tavian  took  out  his  watch:  it  marked  the 
hour  of  midnight.  Fearing  that  it  might 
have  stopped,  he  pressed  the  spring  of  the 
repeating  mechanism.  It  struck  twelve 
times.  It  was  midnight  beyond  a  doubt, 
and  yet  the  brightness  ever  increased.  The 
moon  sank  through  the  azure  which  became 


l84  ARRIA   MARCELLA 

momentarily  more  and  more  luminous.  The 
sun  rose  ! 

Then  Octavian,  to  whom  all  ideas  of  time 
had  become  hopelessly  confused,  was  able 
to  convince  himself  that  he  was  walking,  not 
through  a  dead  Pompeii,  the  chill  corpse  of 
a  city  half-shrouded,  but  through  a  living, 
youthful,  intact  Pompeii  over  which  the  tor- 
rents of  burning  mud  from  Vesuvius  had 
never  flowed. 

An  inconceivable  prodigy  had  transported 
him,  a  Frenchman  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury, back  to  the  age  of  Titus,  not  in  spirit 
only,  but  in  reality;  or  else  had  called  up 
before  him  from  the  depths  of  the  past  a 
desolated  city  with  its  vanished  inhabitants, 
for  a  man  clothed  in  the  antique  fashion  had 
just  passed  out  of  a  neighboring  house. 

This  man  wore  his  hair  short,  and  his  face 
was  closely  shaven  ;  he  was  dressed  in  a 
brown  tunic  and  a  grayish  mantle,  the  ends 
of  which  were  well  tucked  up  so  as  not  to 
impede  his  movements.  He  walked  at  a 
rapid  gait,  bordering  upon  a  run,  and  passed 
by  Octavian  without  perceiving  him.  He 
carried  on  his  arm  a  basket  made  of  Spanish 


ARRIA   MARCELLA  185 

broom,  and  proceeded  toward  the  Forum 
Nundinarium.  He  was  evidently  a  slave, 
some  Davus,  going  to  market  beyond  a 
doubt. 

The  noise  of  wheels  became  audible,  and 
an  antique  wagon,  drawn  by  white  oxen  and 
loaded  with  vegetables,  came  along  the 
street.  Beside  the  team  walked  a  peasant 
— with  legs  bare  and  sunburnt,  and  feet  san- 
dal-shod— who  was  clad  in  a  sort  of  canvas 
shirt  puffed  out  about  the  waist;  a  conical 
straw  hat  hanging  at  his  shoulders,  and  de- 
pending from  his  neck  by  the  chin-band,  left 
his  face  exposed  to  view — a  type  of  face  un- 
known in  these  days — a  forehead  low  and 
traversed  by  salient,  knotty  lines,  hair  black 
and  curly,  eyes  tranquil  as  those  of  his  oxen, 
and  a  neck  like  that  of  the  rustic  Hercules. 
As  he  gravely  pricked  his  animals  with  the 
goad,  his  statuesque  attitudes  would  have 
thrown  Ingres  into  ecstasy. 

The  peasant  perceived  Octavian  and  ap- 
peared surprised,  but  he  proceeded  on  his 
way  without  being  able,  doubtless,  to  find 
any  explanation  for  the  appearance  of  this 
strange-looking  personage,  and  in  his  rustic 


l86  ARRIA   MARCELLA 

simplicity  willingly  leaving  the  solution  of 
the  enigma  to  those  wiser  than  himself. 

Campanian  peasants  also  appeared  on  the 
scene,  driving  before  them  asses  laden  with 
skins  of  wine,  and  ringing  their  brazen  bells. 
Their  physiognomies  differed  from  those  of 
the  modern  peasants  as  a  medallion  differs 
from  a  sou. 

Gradually  the  city  became  peopled,  like 
one  of  those  panoramic  pictures  at  first  deso- 
late, but  which  by  a  sudden  change  of  light 
become  animated  with  personages  previously 
invisible. 

Octavian's  feelings  had  undergone  a 
change.  Only  a  short  time  before,  amid  the 
deceitful  shadows  of  the  night,  he  had  fallen 
a  prey  to  that  uneasiness  from  which  the 
bravest  are  not  exempt  amid  such  disquiet- 
ing and  fantastic  surroundings  as  reason  can- 
not explain.  His  vague  terror  had  ulti- 
mately yielded  to  a  profound  stupefaction. 
The  distinctness  of  his  perceptions  forbade 
him  to  doubt  the  testimony  of  his  senses, 
yet  what  he  beheld  seemed  altogether  con- 
trary to  reason.  Feeling  still  but  half  con- 
vinced, he  sought  by  the  authentication  of 


ARRIA   MARCELLA  187 

minor  actual  details  to  assure  himself  that 
he  was  not  the  victim  of  hallucination. 
Those  figures  which  passed  before  his  eyes 
could  not  be  phantoms,  for  the  living. sun 
shone  upon  them  with  unmistakable  reality, 
and  their  shadows,  elongated  in  the  morning 
light,  fell  upon  the  pavement  and  the  walls. 
Without  the  faintest  understanding  of 
what  had  befallen  him,  Octavian,  ravished 
with  delight  to  find  one  of  his  most  cherished 
dreams  realized,  no  longer  attempted  to  re- 
sist the  fate  of  his  adventure.  He  aban- 
doned himself  to  the  mystery  of  these  mar- 
vels without  any  further  attempt  to  explain 
them  ;  he  averred  to  himself  that  since  he 
had  been  permitted,  by  virtue  of  some  mys- 
terious power,  to  live  for  a  few  hours  in  a 
vanished  age,  he  would  not  waste  time  in 
efforts  to  solve  an  incomprehensible  prob- 
lem, and  he  proceeded  fearlessly  gazing  to 
right  and  left  upon  this  scene  at  once  so  old 
and  yet  so  new  to  him.  But  to  what  epoch 
of  Pompeiian  life  had  he  been  transported  ? 
An  aedile  inscription  engraved  upon  a  wall 
showed  him  by  the  names  of  public  person- 
ages there  recorded,  that  it  was  about  the 


l88  ARRIA   MARCELLA 

commencement  of  the  reign  of  Titus,  or  in 
the  year  79  of  our  own  era.  A  sudden 
thought  flashed  across  Octavian's  mind. 
The  woman  whose  mould  he  had  seen  in  the 
museum  at  Naples  must  be  living,  inasmuch 
as  the  eruption  of  Vesuvius  by  which  she 
had  perished  took  place  on  the  24th  of  Au- 
gust in  this  very  year:  he  might  therefore 
discover  her,  behold  her,  speak  to  her  !  .  .  . 
The  mad  longing  which  had  seized  him  at 
the  sight  of  that  mass  of  cinders  moulded 
upon  a  divinely  perfect  form,  was  perhaps 
about  to  be  fully  satisfied,  for  surely  naught 
could  be  impossible  to  a  love  which  had  had 
the  strength  to  make  Time  itself  recoil,  and 
the  same  hour  to  pass  twice  through  the 
sand-glass  of  Eternity! 

While  Octavian  was  abandoning  himself 
to  these  reflections,  beautiful  young  girls 
were  passing  by  on  their  way  to  the  foun- 
tains, all  balancing  urns  upon  their  heads 
with  their  white  finger-tips,  and  patricians 
clad  in  white  togas  bordered  with  purple 
bands  were  proceeding  toward  the  Forum, 
each  followed  by  an  escort  of  clients.  The 
buyers    commenced    to    throng    about    the 


ARRIA   MARCELLA  189 

booths,  which  were  all  designated  by  sculp- 
tured or  pictured  signs,  and  recalled  by  rea- 
son of  their  shape  and  small  dimensions  the 
moresque  booths  of  Algiers.  Over  most  of 
them  a  glorious  phallus  of  baked  and  painted 
clay,  together  with  the  inscription.  Hie  habi- 
tat Félicitas^  testified  to  superstitious  pre- 
cautions against  the  evil  eye.  Octavian  also 
noticed  an  amulet  shop,  whose  shelves  were 
stocked  with  horns,  bifurcated  branches  of 
coral,  and  little  figures  of  Priapus  in  gold, 
like  those  worn  in  Naples  even  at  this  day 
as  a  safeguard  against  the  jettatura,  and  he 
thought  to  himself  that  a  superstition  often 
outlives  a  religion. 

Following  the  sidewalk  which  borders  each 
street  in  Pompeii  (and  deprives  the  English 
of  all  claim  to  this  invention),  Octavian  sud- 
denly found  himself  face  to  face  with  a  beau- 
tiful young  man  of  about  his  own  age,  clad 
in  a  saffron-colored  tunic,  and  a  mantle  of 
snowy  linen  as  supple  as  cashmere.  The 
sight  of  Octavian  in  his  frightful  modem 
hat,  girthed  about  with  a  scanty  black  frock- 
coat,  his  legs  confined  in  pantaloons,  and  his 


IÇO  ARRIA  MARCELLA 

feet  cramped  in  well-polished  boots,  seemed 
to  surprise  the  young  Pompeiian  in  much 
the  same  way  as  one  of  us  would  feel  aston- 
ished to  meet  on  the  Boulevard  de  Gand 
some  Iowa  Indian  or  native  of  Butocudo,  be- 
decked with  his  feathers,  necklace  of  bear's- 
claws,  or  whimsical  tattooing.  Neverthe- 
less, being  a  well-bred  young  man,  he  did 
not  burst  out  laughing  in  Octavian's  face, 
and  pitying  the  poor  barbarian  who  had  lost 
his  way,  no  doubt,  in  that  Grasco-Roman 
city,  he  said  to  him  in  a  soft,  clear  voice: 

"  Advenu,  salve  I  " 

Nothing  could  be  more  natural  than  that 
an  inhabitant  of  Pompeii,  in  the  reign  of  the 
divine,  most  powerful,  and  most  august  Em- 
peror Titus,  should  speak  Latin,  yet  Octa- 
vian  started  at  hearing  this  dead  tongue  in  a 
living  mouth.  It  was  then,  indeed,  that  he 
congratulated  himself  on  having  been  pro- 
ficient in  his  college  studies,  and  taken  the 
honors  at  the  annual  examinations.  The 
Latin  taught  him  by  the  University  served 
him  in  good  stead  on  that  unique  occasion, 
and  calling  back  to  mind  some  souvenirs  of 
his  college  course,  he  returned  the  salutation 


ARRIA   MARCELLA  I9I 

of  the  Pompeiian  after  the  style  of  De  viris 
illustribus  and  Selectœ  e  profanis,  in  a  toler- 
ably intelligible  manner,  but  with  a  Parisian 
accent  which  forced  the  young  man  to  smile 
despite  himself. 

Perhaps  it  will  be  easier  for  you  to  con- 
verse in  Greek,"  said  the  Pompeiian.  *'  I 
am  also  acquainted  with  that  language,  for 
I  studied  at  Athens." 

"  I  am  even  less  familiar  with  Greek  than 
with  Latin,"  replied  Octavian.  "  I  am  from 
the  land  of  Gaul — from  Paris — from  Lu- 
tetia." 

"  I  know  that  country.  My  grandfather 
served  under  the  great  Julius  Caesar  in  the 
Gallic  wars.  But  what  a  strange  dress  you 
wear!  The  Gauls  whom  I  saw  at  Rome 
were  not  thus  attired." 

Octavian  attempted  to  explain  to  the 
young  Pompeiian  that  twenty  centuries  had 
rolled  by  since  the  conquest  of  Gaul  by 
Julius  Caesar,  and  that  the  fashions  had 
changed  ;  but  he  forgot  his  Latin,  and  in- 
deed, to  tell  the  truth,  he  had  but  little  to 
forget. 

"  My  name  is  Rufus  Holconius,  and  my 


192  ARRIA   MARCELLA 

house  is  at  your  service,"  said  the  young 
man,  **  unless,  indeed,  you  prefer  the  free- 
dom of  the  tavern.  It  is  hard  by  the  pub- 
h'c-house  of  Albinus,  near  the  gate  of  the 
suburb  of  Augustus  FeHx  and  the  Inn  of 
Sarinus,  son  of  PubHus,  just  at  the  second 
turn;  but  if  you  wish,  I  will  be  your  guide 
through  this  city,  in  which  you  do  not  seem 
to  be  acquainted.  Young  barbarian,  I  like 
you,  although  you  endeavored  to  impose 
upon  my  credulity  by  pretending  that  the 
Emperor  Titus,  who  now  reigns,  died  two 
thousand  years  ago,  and  that  the  Nazarean 
(whose  infamous  followers  were  plastered 
with  pitch  and  burned  to  illuminate  Nero's 
gardens)  rules  sole  master  of  the  deserted 
heavens  whence  the  great  gods  have  fallen  ! 
By  Pollux!"  he  continued  as  his  eyes  fell 
upon  a  rubric  inscription  at  a  street-corner, 
*'  you  have  just  come  in  good  time.  The 
Casina  of  Plautus,  which  has  quite  recently 
been  put  upon  the  stage,  will  be  played  to- 
day. It  is  a  curious  and  laughable  comedy 
which  will  amuse  you,  even  if  you  only  com- 
prehend the  pantomime  of  it.  Come  with 
me.     It  is  nearly  time  for  the  play  already. 


ARRIA   MARCELLA  I93 

I  will  find  you  a  place  in  the  seat  set  apart 
for  guests  and  strangers."  And  Rufus  Hol- 
conius  led  the  way  toward  the  little  comic 
theatre  which  the  three  friends  had  visited 
during  the  day. 

The  Frenchman  and  the  citizen  of  Pom- 
peii proceeded  along  the  Street  of  the  Foun- 
tains of  Abundance  and  the  Street  of  the 
Theatres,  passing  by  the  College,  the  Tem- 
ple of  Isis,  and  the  Studio  of  the  Sculptor, 
and  entered  the  Odeon  or  Comic  Theatre 
by  a  lateral  vomitory.  Through  the  recom- 
mendations of  Holconius,  Octavian  obtained 
a  seat  near  the  proscenium  in  a  part  of  the 
theatre  corresponding  to  our  private  boxes 
which  front  upon  the  stage.  All  eyes  were 
immediately  turned  upon  him  with  good- 
natured  curiosity,  and  a  low  whispering  arose 
all  through  the  amphitheatre. 

The  play  had  not  yet  commenced,  and 
Octavian  profited  by  the  interval  to  examine 
the  building.  The  semicircular  seats,  ter- 
minated at  either  end  by  a  magnificent  lion's 
paw  sculptured  in  Vesuvian  lava,  receded, 
broadening  as  they  rose,  from  an  empty 
space  corresponding  to  our  p^rterrCy  but 
13 


194  ARRIA   MARCELLA 

much  narrower  and  paved  in  mosaic  with 
Greek  marble.  The  rows  of  seats  widened 
above  one  another  in  regular  gradation  ac- 
cording to  distance,  and  four  stairways,  cor- 
responding with  the  vomitories,  and  sloping 
from  the  base  to  the  summit  of  the  amphi- 
theatre, divided  it  into  five  cunei  or  wedge- 
shaped  compartments,  with  the  broad  end 
uppermost.  The  spectators,  all  furnished 
with  tickets  consisting  of  little  slips  of  ivory, 
upon  which  were  indicated  in  numerical  or- 
der the  row,  division,  and  seat,  together, 
with  the  name  of  the  play  and  its  author, 
took  their  places  without  confusion.  The 
magistrates,  nobility,  married  men,  young 
folks,  and  the  soldiers — who  attracted  atten- 
tion by  the  gleaming  of  their  bronze  helmets 
— all  occupied  different  rows  of  seats. 

It  was  an  admirable  spectacle.  Those 
beautiful  togas  and  great  white  mantles  dis- 
played in  the  first  row  of  seats,  contrasting 
with  the  vari-colored  garments  of  the  women 
seated  in  the  circle  above,  and  the  gray 
capes  of  the  populace  who  were  assigned  to 
the  upper  benches  near  the  columns  which 
supported  the  roof,  and  between  which  were 


ARRIA  MARCELLA  1 95 

visible  glimpses  of  a  sky  intensely  blue  as 
the  azure  background  of  the  Panathenaea. 

A  fine  spray  aromatized  with  saffron  fell 
from  the  friezes  above  in  imperceptible  mist, 
at  once  cooling  and  purifying  the  air.  Oc- 
tavian  thought  of  the  fetid  emanations  which 
vitiate  the  atmosphere  of  our  modern  the- 
atres— theatres  so  uncomfortable  that  they 
may  justly  be  considered  places  of  torture 
rather  than  places  of  amusement,  and  he 
found  that  modern  civilization  had  not,  after 
all,  made  much  progress. 

The  curtain,  sustained  by  a  transverse 
beam,  sank  into  the  depths  of  the  orches- 
tra; the  musicians  took  their  seats,  and  the 
Prologue  appeared  in  grotesque  attire,  his 
face  concealed  by  a  frightful  mask  which 
fitted  the  head  like  a  helmet. 

Having  saluted  the  audience  and  de- 
manded applause,  the  Prologue  commenced 
a  merry  argumentation.  Old  plays,  he  said, 
were  like  old  wine  which  improves  with  age  ; 
and  Casina,  so  dear  to  the  old,  should  not 
be  less  so  to  the  young:  all  could  take  pleas- 
ure in  it,  some  because  they  were  familiar 
with    it,    others    because    they    were    not. 


196  ARRIA   MARCELLA 

Moreover,  the  play  had  been  carefully  re- 
mounted, and  should  be  heard  with  a  cheer- 
ful mind,  without  thinking  about  one's  debts 
or  one's  creditors,  for  people  were  not  liable 
to  be  arrested  at  the  theatre.  It  was  a 
happy  day,  the  weather  was  fair,  and  the 
halcyons  hovered  over  the  Forum. 

Then  he  gave  an  analysis  of  the  comedy 
about  to  be  performed  by  the  actors,  with 
that  minuteness  of  detail  which  shows  how 
little  the  element  of  surprise  entered  into 
the  theatrical  pleasures  of  the  ancient.  He 
told  how  the  aged  Stalino,  being  enamored 
of  his  beautiful  slave  Casina,  desired  to 
marry  her  to  his  farmer  Olympio,  a  com- 
plaisant spouse  whose  place  he  himself  would 
fill  on  the  nuptial  night  ;  and  how  Lyco- 
strata,  wife  of  Stalino,  in  order  to  thwart  the 
luxury  of  her  vicious  husband,  sought  to 
unite  Casina  in  marriage  to  the  groom  Cha- 
linus  with  the  further  idea  of  favoring  the 
amours  of  her  son — in  fine,  how  the  deceived 
Stalino  mistook  a  young  slave  in  disguise  for 
Casina,  who,  being  discovered  to  be  free, 
and  of  free  birth,  espouses  the  young  master 
whom  she  loves  and  by  whom  she  is  beloved. 


ARRIA  MARCELLA  1 97 

As  in  a  reverie,  the  young  Frenchman 
watched  the  actors  with  their  bronze- 
mouthed  masks,  exerting  themselves  upon 
the  stage;  the  slaves  ran  hither  and  thither, 
feigning  great  haste;  the  old  man  wagged 
his  head  and  extended  his  trembling  hand  ; 
the  matron  with  high  words  and  scornful 
mien  strutted  in  her  importance  and  quar- 
relled with  her  husband,  to  the  great  delight 
of  the  audience.  All  these  personages  made 
their  entrances  and  exits  through  three  doors 
contrived  in  the  foundation-wall  and  com- 
municating with  the  green-room  of  the 
actors.  The  house  of  Stalino  occupied  one 
corner  of  the  stage,  and  that  of  his  old  friend 
Alcesimus  faced  it  on  the  opposite  side. 
These  decorations,  although  very  well 
painted,  represented  the  idea  of  a  place 
rather  than  the  place  itself,  like  most  of  the 
vague  scenery  of  the  classic  theatres. 

When  the  nuptial  procession,  pompously 
escorting  the  false  Casina,  entered  upon  the 
stage,  a  mighty  burst  of  laughter,  such  as 
Homer  attributes  to  the  gods,  rang  through 
all  the  amphitheatre,  and  thunders  of  ap- 
plause evoked  the  vibrating  echoes  of  the 


I9S  ARRIA   MARCELLA 

enclosure,  but  Octavian  heard  no  more  and 
saw  no  more  of  the  play. 

In  the  circle  of  seats  occupied  by  the 
women,  he  had  just  beheld  a  creature  of 
marvellous  beauty.  From  that  moment  all 
the  other  charming  faces  which  had  attracted 
his  attention  became  eclipsed  as  the  stars 
before  the  face  of  Phœbus — all  vanished,  all 
disappeared  as  in  a  dream  ;  a  mist  clouded 
the  circles  of  seats  with  their  swarming  mul- 
titudes, and  the  high-pitched  voices  of  the 
actors  seemed  lost  in  infinite  distance. 

His  heart  received  a  sudden  shock  as  of 
electricity,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  sparks 
flew  from  his  breast  when  the  eyes  of  that 
woman  turned  upon  him. 

She  was  dark  and  pale.  Her  locks,  crisp- 
flowing  and  black  as  the  tresses  of  Night, 
streamed  backward  over  her  temples  after 
the  fashion  of  the  Greeks,  and  in  her  pallid 
face  beamed  soft,  melancholy  eyes,  heavy 
with  an  indefinable  expression  of  voluptuous 
sadness  and  passionate  ennui.  Her  mouth, 
with  its  disdainful  curves,  protested  by  the 
livincr  warmth  of  its  burninç^  crimson  aj^ainst 
the  tranquil  pallor  of  her  cheeks,  and  the 


ARRIA   MARCELLA  I99 

curves  of  her  neck  presented  those  pure  and 
beautiful  outlines  now  to  be  found  only  in 
statues.  Her  arms  were  naked  to  the  shoul- 
der, and  from  the  peaks  of  her  splendid 
bosom,  which  betrayed  its  superb  curves  be- 
neath a  mauve-rose  tunic,  fell  two  graceful 
folds  of  drapery  that  seemed  to  have  been 
sculptured  in  marble  by  Phidias  or  Cleo- 
menes. 

The  sight  of  that  bosom,  so  faultless  in 
contour,  so  pure  in  its  outlines,  magnetic- 
ally affected  Octavian.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  those  rich  curves  corresponded  perfectly 
to  that  hollow  mould  in  the  museum  at 
Naples  which  had  thrown  him  into  so  ardent 
a  reverie,  and  from  the  depths  of  his  heart  a 
voice  cried  out  to  him  that  this  woman  v/as 
indeed  the  same  who  had  been  suffocated  in 
the  villa  of  Arrius  Diomedes  by  the  cinders 
of  Vesuvius.  What  prodigy,  then,  enabled 
him  to  behold  her  living,  and  witnessing  the 
performance  of  the  Casina  of  Plautus  ?  But 
he  forbore  to  seek  an  explanation  of  the 
problem.  For  that  matter,  how  did  he  him- 
self happen  to  be  there  ?  He  accepted  the 
fact  of  his  presence  as  in  dreams  we  never 


2CX)  ARRIA  MARCELLA 

question  the  intervention  of  persons  actually 
long  dead,  but  who  seem  to  act  nevertheless 
like  living  people;  besides,  his  emotion  for- 
bade him  to  reason.  For  him  the  Wheel  of 
Time  had  left  its  track,  and  his  all-conquer- 
ing love  had  chosen  its  place  among  the  ages 
passed  away.  He  found  himself  face  to  face 
with  his  chimera,  one  of  the  most  unattain- 
able of  all,  a  retrospective  chimera.  The 
cup  of  his  whole  life  had  in  a  single  instant 
been  filled  to  overflowing. 

While  gazing  upon  that  face,  at  once  so 
calm  and  passionate,  so  cold  and  yet  so  re- 
plete with  warmth,  so  dead,  yet  so  radiant 
with  life,  he  felt  that  he  beheld  before  him 
his  first  and  last  love,  his  cup  of  supreme 
intoxication  ;  he  felt  all  the  memories  of  all 
the  women  whom  he  ever  believed  that  he 
had  loved,  vanish  like  impalpable  shadows, 
and  his  heart  became  once  more  virginally 
pure  of  all  anterior  passion.  The  past  was 
dead  within  him. 

Meanwhile  the  fair  Pompeiian,  resting  her 
chin  upon  the  palm  of  her  hand,  turned 
upon  Octavian,  though  feigning  the  while 
to  be  absorbed  in  the  performance,  the  vel- 


ARRIA   MARCELLA  20I 

vet  gaze  of  her  nocturnal  eyes,  and  that  look 
fell  upon  him  heavy  and  burning  as  a  jet  of 
molten  lead.  Then  she  turned  to  whisper 
some  words  in  the  ear  of  a  maid  seated  at 
her  side. 

The  performance  closed.  The  crowd 
poured  out  of  the  theatre  through  the  vomi- 
tories, and  Octavian,  disdaining  the  kindly 
offices  of  his  friend  Holconius,  rushed  to  the 
nearest  doorway.  He  had  scarcely  reached 
the  entrance  when  a  hand  was  lightly  laid 
upon  his  arm,  and  a  feminine  voice  ex- 
claimed in  tones  at  once  low  yet  so  distinct 
that  not  a  syllable  escaped  him: 

"  I  am  Tyche  Novaleia,  entrusted  with 
the  pleasures  of  Arria  Marcella,  daughter  of 
Arrius  Diomedes.  My  mistress  loves  you. 
Follow  me." 

Arria  Marcella  had  just  entered  her  litter, 
borne  by  four  strong  Syrian  slaves,  naked  to 
the  waist,  whose  bronze  torsos  shone  under 
the  sunlight.  The  curtain  of  the  litter  was 
drawn  aside,  and  a  pale  hand,  starred  with 
brilliant  rings,  waved  a  friendly  signal  to 
Octavian,  as  though  in  confirmation  of  the 
attendant's  words.     Then  the  purple  folds 


202  ARRIA    MARCELLA 

of  the  curtain  fell  again,  and  the  litter  was 
borne  away  to  the  rhythmical  sound  of  the 
footsteps  of  the  slaves. 

Tyche  conducted  Octavian  along  winding 
byways,  tripping  lightly  across  the  streets 
over  the  stepping-stones  which  connected 
the  foot-paths,  and  between  which  the 
wheels  of  the  chariots  rolled,  wending  her 
way  through  the  labyrinth  with  that  cer- 
tainty which  bears  witness  to  thorough 
familiarity  with  a  city.  Octavian  noticed 
that  he  v/as  traversing  portions  of  Pompeii 
which  had  never  been  excavated,  and  which 
were  in  consequence  totally  unknown  to 
him.  Among  so  many  other  equally  strange 
circumstances,  this  caused  him  no  astonish- 
ment. He  had  made  up  his  mind  to  be  as- 
tonished at  nothing.  Amid  all  this  archaic 
phantasmagory,  which  v/ould  have  driven  an 
antiquarian  mad  with  joy,  he  no  longer  saw 
anything  save  the  dark,  deep  eyes  of  Arria 
Marcella,  and  that  superb  bosom  which  had 
vanquished  even  Time,  and  which  Destruc- 
tion itself  had  sought  to  preserve. 

They  arrived  at  last  before  a  private  gate 
which   opened   to   admit    them,    and   closed 


ARRIA   MARCELLA  203 

again  as  soon  as  they  had  entered,  and  Oc- 
tavian  found  himself  in  a  court  surrounded 
by  Ionic  columns  of  Greek  marble,  painted 
bright  yellow  for  half  their  height  and 
crowned  with  capitals  relieved  with  blue  and 
red  ornaments.  A  wreath  of  aristolochia 
suspended  its  great  green  heart-shaped  leaves 
from  the  projections  of  the  architecture  like 
a  natural  arabesque,  and  near  a  marble  basin 
framed  in  plants  one  flaming  rose  towered 
on  a  single  stalk — a  plume-flower  in  the  midst 
of  natural  flowers.  The  walls  were  adorned 
with  panelled  fresco-work,  representing  fanci- 
ful architecture  or  imaginary  landscape  views. 
Octavian  obtained  only  a  hurried  glance 
at  all  these  details,  for  Tyche  immediately 
placed  him  in  the  hands  of  the  slaves  who 
had  charge  of  the  bath,  and  who  subjected 
him,  notwithstanding  his  impatience,  to  all 
the  refinements  of  the  antique  ther^nœ. 
After  having  submitted  to  the  several  neces- 
sary degrees  of  vapor-heat,  endured  the 
scraper  of  the  strigillarius,  and  felt  cosmetics 
and  perfumed  oils  poured  over  him  in 
streams,  he  was  reclothed  with  a  white 
tunic,  and  again  met  Tyche  at  the  opposite 


204  ARRIA  MARCELLA 

door,  who  took  him  by  the  hand  and  con- 
ducted him  into  another  apartment  gor- 
geously decorated. 

Upon  the  ceiling  were  painted,  with  a 
purity  of  design,  brilliancy  of  color,  and  free- 
dom of  touch  which  bespoke  the  hand  of  a 
great  master  rather  than  of  the  mere  ordi- 
nary decorator,  Mars,  Venus,  and  Love.  A 
frieze  composed  of  deer,  hares,  and  birds, 
disporting  themselves  amid  rich  foliage,  ran 
around  the  apartment  above  a  wainscoting 
of  cipollino  marble;  the  mosaic  pavement, 
a  marvellous  work  from  the  hand,  perhaps, 
of  Sosimus  of  Pergamos,  represented  ban- 
quet-scenes in  relief,  with  a  perfection  of  art 
which  deluded  the  eye. 

At  the  further  end  of  the  hall,  upon  a 
biclinium,  or  double  couch,  reclined  Arria 
Marcella  in  an  attitude  which  recalled  the 
reclining  woman  of  Phidias,  upon  the  pedi- 
ment of  the  Parthenon.  Her  pearl-em- 
broidered shoes  lay  at  the  foot  of  the  couch, 
and  her  beautiful  bare  foot,  purer  and  whiter 
than  marble,  extended  from  beneath  the 
light  covering  of  byssus  which  had  been 
thrown  over  her. 


ARRIA   MARCELLA  205 

Two  earrings,  fashioned  in  the  form  of 
balance-scales,  and  bearing  pearls  in  either 
scale,  trembled  in  the  light  against  her  pale 
cheeks.  A  necklace  of  golden  balls,  with 
pear-shaped  pendants  attached,  hung  down 
upon  her  bosom,  which  the  negligent  folds 
of  a  straw-colored  peplum,  with  a  Greek 
border  in  black  lines,  had  left  half  uncov- 
ered ;  a  gold  and  black  fillet  passed  and  glit- 
tered here  and  there  through  her  ebon 
tresses,  for  she  had  changed  her  dress  upon 
returning  from  the  theatre,  and  around  her 
arm,  like  the  asp  about  the  arm  of  Cleo- 
patra, a  golden  serpent  with  jewelled  eyes 
entwined  itself  in  many  folds  and  sought  to 
bite  its  own  tail. 

Close  by  the  double  couch  had  been  placed 
a  little  table,  supported  upon  griffins'  paws, 
inlaid  with  mother-of-pearl,  and  freighted 
with  different  viands  served  upon  dishes  of 
silver  and  gold,  or  of  earthenware  enamelled 
with  costly  paintings.  A  Phasian  bird, 
cooked  in  its  plumage,  was  visible,  and  also 
various  fruits  which  are  seldom  seen  together 
in  any  one  season. 

Everything  seemed  to  indicate  that  a  guest 


206  ARRIA   MARCELLA 

was  expected.  The  floor  had  been  strewn 
with  fresh  flowers,  and  the  amphorae  of  wine 
were  plunged  into  urns  filled  with  snow. 

Arria  Marcella  made  a  sign  to  Octavian  to 
lie  down  upon  the  biclinium  beside  her  and 
share  her  repast.  Half-maddened  with  as- 
tonishment and  love,  the  young  man  took 
at  random  a  few  mouthfuls  from  the  plates 
extended  to  him  by  little  curly-haired  Asiatic 
slaves,  who  wore  short  tunics.  Arria  did 
not  eat,  but  she  frequently  raised  to  her  lips 
an  opal-tinted  myrrhine  vase  filled  with  a 
wine  darkly  purple  like  thickened  blood. 
As  she  drank  an  imperceptible  rosy  vapor 
mounted  to  her  cheeks  from  her  heart,  the 
heart  that  had  never  throbbed  for  so  many 
centuries  ;  nevertheless,  her  bare  arm,  which 
Octavian  lightly  touched  in  the  act  of  rais- 
ing his  cup,  was  cold  as  the  skin  of  a  serpent 
or  the  marble  of  a  tomb. 

"  Ah,  when  you  paused  in  the  Studii 
Museum  to  contemplate  the  mass  of  har- 
dened clay  which  still  preserves  my  form," 
exclaimed  Arria  Marcella,  turning  her  long, 
liquid    eyes     upon    Octavian,    "  and    your 


ARRIA   MARCELLA  207 

thoughts  were  ardently  directed  to  me,  my 
spirit  felt  it  in  that  world  where  I  float,  in- 
visible to  vulgar  eyes.  Faith  makes  God, 
and  love  makes  woman.  One  is  truly  dead 
only  when  one  is  no  longer  loved.  Your 
desire  has  restored  life  to  me.  The  mighty 
invocation  of  your  heart  overcame  the  dim 
distances  that  separated  us." 

The  idea  of  amorous  invocation  which  the 
young  woman  spoke  of  entered  into  the 
philosophic  beliefs  of  Octavian,  beliefs  which 
we  ourselves  are  not  far  from  sharing. 

In  effect,  nothing  dies;  all  things  are  eter- 
nal. No  power  can  annihilate  that  which 
once  had  being.  Every  action,  every  word, 
every  thought  which  has  fallen  into  the  uni- 
versal ocean  of  being,  therein  creates  circles 
which  travel,  and  increase  in  travelling,  even 
to  the  confines  of  eternity.  To  vulgar  eyes 
only  do  natural  forms  disappear,  and  the 
spectres  which  have  thence  detached  them- 
selves people  Infinity.  Paris,  in  some  un- 
known region  of  space,  continues  to  carry  off 
Helen.  The  galley  of  Cleopatra  still  floats 
down  with  swelling  sails  of  silk  upon  the 
azure  current  of  an  ideal  Cydnus.     A  few 


2o8  ARRIA   MARCELLA 

passionate  and  powerful  minds  have  been 
able  to  recall  before  them  ages  apparently 
long  passed  away,  and  to  restore  to  life  per- 
sonages dead  to  all  the  world  beside.  Faust 
has  had  for  his  mistress  the  daughter  of 
Tyndarus,  and  conducted  her  to  his  Gothic 
castle  in  the  depths  of  the  mysterious  abysses 
of  Hades.  Octavian  had  been  able  to  live  a 
day  under  the  reign  of  Titus,  and  to  make 
himself  beloved  of  Arria  Marcella,  daughter 
of  Arrius  Diomedes,  she  who  was  at  that 
moment  lying  upon  an  antique  couch  beside 
him  in  a  city  destroyed  for  all  the  rest  of 
the  world. 

"  From  my  disgust  with  other  women," 
replied  Octavian,  "  from  the  unconquerable 
reverie  which  attracted  me  toward  its  radi- 
ant shapes  as  to  stars  that  lure  on,  I  knew 
that  I  could  never  love  save  beyond  the  con- 
fines of  Time  and  Space.  It  was  you  that 
I  awaited;  and  that  frail  vestige  of  your 
being,  preserved  by  the  curiosity  of  men, 
has  by  its  secret  magnetism  placed  me  in 
communication  with  your  spirit.  I  know 
not  if  you  be  a  dream  or  a  reality,  a  phan- 
tom or  a  woman;  if,  like  Ixion,  I  press  but 


ARRIA   MARCELLA  209 

a  cloud  to  my  cheated  breast  ;  if  I  am  only 
the  victim  of  some  vile  spell  of  sorcery — but 
what  I  do  truly  know  is  that  you  will  be  my 
first  and  my  last  love." 

"  May  Eros,  son  of  Aphrodite,  hear  your 
promise,"  returned  Arria  Marcella,  drop- 
ping her  head  upon  the  shoulder  of  her 
lover,  who  lifted  her  in  a  passionate  em- 
brace. "^  Oh,  press  me  to  your  young 
breast  !  Envelop  me  with  your  warm  breath. 
I  am  cold  through  having  remained  so  long 
without  love."  And  against  his  heart  Oc- 
tavian  felt  that  beautiful  bosom  rise  and  fall, 
whose  mould  he  had  that  very  morning  ad- 
mired through  the  glass  of  a  cabinet  in  the 
museum.  The  coolness  of  that  beautiful 
flesh  penetrated  him  through  his  tunic  and 
made  him  burn.  The  gold  and  black  fillet 
had  become  detached  from  Arria's  head, 
passionately  thrown  back,  and  her  hair 
streamed  like  a  black  river  over  the  purple 
pillow. 

The   slaves  had   removed    the   table.      A 

confused  sound  of  sighs  and  kisses  was  alone 

audible.     The  pet  quails,  indifferent  to  this 

amorous  scene,  plundered  the  crumbs  of  the 

14 


2IO  ARRIA   MARCELLA 

banquet  upon  the  mosaic  pavement,  utter- 
ing sharp  little  cries. 

Suddenly  the  brazen  rings  of  the  curtain 
which  closed  the  entrance  to  the  apartment 
slided  back  upon  the  curtain-rod,  and  an 
aged  man  of  stern  demeanor  and  wrapped  in 
a  great  brown  mantle  appeared  upon  the 
threshold.  His  gray  beard  was  divided  into 
two  points  after  the  manner  of  the  Naza- 
reans.  His  face  seemed  furrowed  by  the 
suffering  of  ascetic  mortifications,  and  a  lit- 
tle cross  of  black  wood  was  suspended  from 
his  neck,  leaving  no  doubt  as  to  his  faith. 
He  belonged  to  the  sect,  then  new,  of  the 
Disciples  of  Christ. 

On  perceiving  him,  Arria  Marcella,  over- 
whelmed with  confusion,  hid  her  face  in  the 
folds  of  her  mantle,  like  a  bird  which  puts 
its  head  under  its  wing  at  the  approach  of 
an  enemy  from  whom  it  cannot  escape,  to 
save  itself  at  least  from  the  horror  of  seeing 
him,  while  Octavian,  rising  on  his  elbow, 
stared  fixedly  at  the  provoking  being  who 
had  thus  abruptly  interrupted  his  happiness. 

"Arria,  Arria!"  exclaimed  the  austere 
personage  in  a  voice  of  reproach,  "  did  not 


ARRIA   MARCELLA  211 

your  lifetime  suffice  for  your  misconduct, 
and  must  your  infamous  amours  encroach 
upon  centuries  to  which  they  do  not  belong  ? 
Can  you  not  leave  the  living  in  their  sphere  ? 
Have  not  your  ashes  cooled  since  the  day 
when  you  perished  unrepentant  beneath  the 
rain  of  volcanic  fire  ?  So,  then,  even  two 
thousand  years  have  not  sufficed  to  calm  your 
passion,  and  your  voracious  arms  still  draw  to 
your  heartless  breast  of  marble  the  poor  mad- 
men whom  your  philters  have  intoxicated  !  " 

"  Arrius,  father,  mercy!  Do  not  crush 
me  in  the  name  of  that  morose  religion  which 
was  never  mine  !  I  believed  in  our  ancient 
gods,  who  loved  life  and  youth  and  beauty 
and  pleasure.  Do  not  hurl  me  back  into 
pale  nothingness!  Let  me  enjoy  this  life 
that  love  has  given  back  to  me!  " 

"  Silence,  impious  woman  !  Speak  not  to 
me  of  your  gods,  which  are  demons.  Let 
this  man,  whom  you  have  fettered  with  your 
impure  seductions,  depart  hence.  Draw 
him  no  more  beyond  the  circle  of  that  life 
which  God  measured  out  for  him.  Return 
to  the  Limbo  of  paganism  with  your  Asiatic, 
Roman,  or  Greek  lovers.     Young  Christian, 


212  ARRIA   MARCELLA 

forsake  that  larva,  who  would  seem  to  you 
more  hideous  than  Empousa  or  Phorkyas, 
could  you  but  see  her  as  she  is!  " 

Pale  and  frozen  with  horror,  Octavian  tried 
to  speak,  but  his  voice  clung  to  his  throat, 
according  to  the  expression  of  Virgil. 

**  Will  you  obey  me,  Arria  ?  "  imperiously 
cried  the  tall  old  man. 

"No,  never!"  responded  Arria,  with 
flashing  eyes,  dilated  nostrils,  and  passion- 
trembling  lips,  as  she  suddenly  encircled  the 
body  of  Octavian  with  her  beautiful  statu- 
esque arms,  cold,  hard,  and  rigid  as  marble. 
Her  furious  beauty,  enhanced  by  the  struggle, 
shone  forth  at  that  supreme  moment  with  su- 
pernatural brightness,  as  though  to  leave  its 
imperishable  souvenir  with  her  young  lover. 

'*  Then,  unhappy  woman,"  exclaimed  the 
old  man,  **  I  must  needs  employ  extreme 
measures,  and  render  your  nothingness  pal- 
pable and  visible  to  this  fascinated  child." 
And  in  a  voice  of  command  he  pronounced 
a  formula  of  exorcism  that  banished  from 
Arria' s  cheeks  the  purple  tints  with  which 
the  black  wine  from  the  myrrhine  vase  had 
suffused  them. 


ARRIA   MARCELLA  213 

At  the  same  moment  the  distant  bell  of 
one  of  those  hamlets  which  border  the  sea- 
coast,  or  lie  hidden  in  the  mountain  hollows, 
rang  out  the  first  peal  of  the  angelus. 

A  sob  of  agony  burst  from  the  broken 
heart  of  the  young  woman  at  that  sound. 
Octavian  felt  her  encircling  arms  untwine, 
the  draperies  which  covered  her  sank  fold 
on  fold,  as  though  the  contours  which  sus- 
tained them  had  suddenly  given  way,  and 
the  wretched  night-walker  beheld  on  the 
banquet-couch  beside  him  only  a  handful  of 
cinders  mingled  with  a  few  fragments  of  cal- 
cined bones,  among  which  gold  bracelets  and 
jewelry  glittered,  together  with  such  other 
shapeless  remains  as  were  found  in  excavat- 
ing the  villa  of  Arrius  Diomedes. 

He  uttered  one  fearful  cry  and  became 
insensible. 

The  old  man  had  disappeared,  the  sun 
rose,  and  the  hall,  so  brilliantly  decorated 
but  a  short  time  before,  became  only  a  dis- 
mantled ruin. 


After  a  heavy  slumber,  inspired  by  the 
libations  of  the  previous  evening,  Max  and 


214  ARRIA   MARCELLA 

Fabio  started  from  their  sleep,  and  at  once 
called  their  comrade,  whose  room  adjoined 
their  own,  with  one  of  those  burlesque  rally- 
ing cries  which  are  so  commonly  made  use 
of  by  travellers.  Octavian,  for  the  best  of 
reasons,  returned  no  answer.  Fabio  and 
Max,  hearing  no  response,  entered  their 
friend's  chamber  and  perceived  that  the  bed 
had  not  been  disturbed. 

"  He  must  have  fallen  asleep  in  some 
chair,"  said  Fabio,  "  without  being  able  to 
get  to  bed,  for  our  good  Octavian  cannot 
bear  much  liquor;  and  most  likely  he  is  tak- 
ing an  early  walk  to  dissipate  the  fumes  of 
the  wine  in  the  fresh  morning  air." 

"  But  he  did  not  drink  much,"  returned 
Max,  in  a  thoughtful  manner.  "  All  this 
seems  very  strange  to  me.  Let  us  go  and 
find  him  !  " 

Accompanied  by  the  cicerone,  the  two 
friends  searched  all  the  streets,  squares, 
cross-roads,  and  alleys  of  Pompeii,  entering 
every  curious  building  where  they  thought 
Octavian  might  be  occupied  in  copying  a 
painting  or  taking  down  an  inscription,  and 
finally  discovered  him  lying  insensible  upon 


ARRIA   MARCELLA  215 

the  disjointed  mosaic  pavement  of  a  small 
ruined  chamber.  They  had  much  difficulty 
in  restoring  him  to  consciousness,  and  on 
reviving,  his  only  explanation  of  the  circum- 
stance was  that  he  had  taken  a  fancy  to  see 
Pompeii  by  moonlight,  and  had  been  seized 
with  a  sudden  faintness,  which  would  doubt- 
less result  in  nothing  serious. 

The  little  party  returned  by  rail  to  Naples, 
as  they  had  come,  and  the  same  evening, 
from  their  private  box  at  the  San  Carlo, 
Max  and  Fabio  watched  through  their  opera 
glasses  a  troupe  of  nymphs  dancing  in  a 
ballet,  under  the  leadership  of  Amalia  Fer- 
raris, the  danseuse  then  in  vogue,  all  wearing 
under  their  gauzy  skirts  frightful  green 
drawers,  which  made  them  look  like  so  many 
frogs  stung  by  a  tarantula.  Pale,  with  wo- 
ful  eyes,  and  the  general  air  of  one  crushed 
by  suffering,  Octavian  seemed  to  doubt  the 
reality  of  what  transpired  upon  the  stage,  so 
difficult  did  he  find  it  to  resume  the  senti- 
ments of  real  life  after  the  marvellous  ad- 
ventures of  the  night. 

From  the  time  of  that  visit  to  Pompeii 
Octavian    fell    into    a    dismal    melancholy, 


2l6  ARRIA   MARCELLA 

which  the  good-humored  pleasantry  of  his 
companions  rather  aggravated  than  soothed. 
The  image  of  Arria  Marcella  haunted  him 
incessantly,  and  the  sad  termination  of  his 
fantastic  good  fortune  had  never  destroyed 
its  charm. 

Unable  to  contain  his  misery,  he  returned 
secretly  to  Pompeii,  and  once  again  wan- 
dered among  the  ruins  by  moonlight  as  be- 
fore, his  heart  palpitating  with  maddening 
hope;  but  the  hallucination  never  returned. 
He  saw  only  the  lizards  fleeing  over  the 
stones,  he  heard  only  the  screams  of  the 
startled  night-birds.  He  met  his  friend  Ru- 
fus  Holconius  no  more,  Tyche  came  not  to 
lay  her  supple  hand  upon  his  arm,  Arria 
Marcella  obstinately  slumbered  in  her  dust. 

Abandoning  all  hope,  Octavian  finally  mar- 
ried a  charming  young  English  girl,  who  is 
madly  in  love  with  him.  He  is  perfectly 
well  behaved  to  his  wife,  yet  Ellen,  with 
that  subtle  instinct  of  the  heart  which  noth- 
ing can  deceive,  feels  that  her  husband  is 
enamored  of  another.  But  of  whom  ?  That 
is  a  mystery  which  the  most  unflagging 
watchfulness  cannot  enable  her  to  unravel. 


ARRIA   MARCELLA  217 

Octavian  never  entertains  actresses.  In  so- 
ciety he  addresses  to  women  only  the  most 
commonplace  gallantries.  He  even  returned 
with  the  greatest  coldness  the  marked  ad- 
vances of  a  certain  Russian  princess  cele- 
brated for  her  beauty  and  her  coquetry.  A 
secret  drawer,  opened  during  her  husband's 
absence,  afforded  no  confirmation  of  infidel- 
ity to  Ellen's  suspicions.  But  how  could 
she  permit  herself  to  be  jealous  of  Arria 
Marcella,  daughter  of  Arrius  Diomedes,  the 
freedman  of  Tiberius  ? 


The  Mummy's  Foot 


MtiE  MlJrtMlfS  FÔOl 


T  HAD  entered,  in  an  idle  mood,  the  shop 
of  one  of  those  curiosity  venders  who  are 
called  marchands  de  bric-à-brac  in  that  Paris- 
ian argot  which  is  so  perfectly  unintelligible 
elsewhere  in  France. 

You  have  doubtless  glanced  occasionally 
through  the  windows  of  some  of  these  shops, 
which  have  become  so  numerous  now  that 
it  is  fashionable  to  buy  antiquated  furniture, 
and  that  every  petty  stockbroker  thinks  he 
must  have  his  chambre  au  moyen  âge. 

There  is  one  thing  there  which  clings  alike 
to  the  shop  of  the  dealer  in  old  iron,  the 
ware-room  of  the  tapestry  maker,  the  labo- 
ratory of  the  chemist,  and  the  studio  of  the 
painter  :  in  all  those  gloomy  dens  where  a 
furtive  daylight  filters  in  through  the  win- 
dow-shutters the  most  manifestly  ancient 
thing  is  dust.     The  cobwebs  are  more  au- 


222  THE   MUMMY'S   FOOT 

thentic  than  the  guimp  laces,  and  the  old 
pear-tree  furniture  on  exhibition  is  actually- 
younger  than  the  mahogany  which  arrived 
but  yesterday  from  America. 

The  warehouse  of  my  bric-à-brac  dealer 
was  a  veritable  Capharnaum.  All  ages  and 
all  nations  seemed  to  have  made  their  ren- 
dezvous there.  An  Etruscan  lamp  of  red 
clay  stood  upon  a  Boule  cabinet,  with  ebony 
panels,  brightly  striped  by  lines  of  inlaid 
brass;  a  duchess  of  the  court  of  Louis  XV. 
nonchalantly  extended  her  fawn-like  feet  un- 
der a  massive  table  of  the  time  of  Louis 
XIIL,  with  heavy  spiral  supports  of  oak, 
and  carven  designs  of  chimeras  and  foliage 
intermingled. 

Upon  the  denticulated  shelves  of  several 
sideboards  glittered  immense  Japanese  dishes 
with  red  and  blue  designs  relieved  by  gilded 
hatching,  side  by  side  with  enamelled  works 
by  Bernard  Palissy,  representing  serpents, 
frogs,  and  lizards  in  relief. 

From  disembowelled  cabinets  escaped  cas- 
cades of  silver-lustrous  Chinese  silks  and 
waves  of  tinsel,  which  an  oblique  sunbeam 
shot   through  with   luminous   beads,   while 


THE   MUMMY  S   FOOT  223 

portraits  of  every  era,  in  frames  more  or  less 
tarnished,  smiled  through  their  yellow  var- 
nish. 

The  striped  breastplate  of  a  damascened 
suit  of  Milanese  armor  glittered  in  one  cor- 
ner; loves  and  nymphs  of  porcelain,  Chinese 
grotesques,  vases  of  céladon  and  crackle- 
ware,  Saxon  and  old  Sèvres  cups  encumbered 
the  shelves  and  nooks  of  the  apartment. 

The  dealer  followed  me  closely  through 
the  tortuous  way  contrived  between  the  piles 
of  furniture,  warding  off  with  his  hand  the 
hazardous  sweep  of  my  coat-skirts,  watch- 
ing my  elbows  with  the  uneasy  attention  of 
an  antiquarian  and  a  usurer. 

It  was  a  singular  face,  that  of  the  mer- 
chant; an  immense  skull,  polished  like  a 
knee,  and  surrounded  by  a  thin  aureole  of 
white  hair,  which  brought  out  the  clear  sal- 
mon tint  of  his  complexion  all  the  more 
strikingly,  lent  him  a  false  aspect  of  patri- 
archal bonhomie^  counteracted,  however,  by 
the  scintillation  of  two  little  yellow  eyes 
which  trembled  in  their  orbits  like  two  louis- 
d'or  upon  quicksilver.  The  curve  of  his 
nose  presented  an  aquiline  silhouette,  which 


224  THE   MUMMY'S   FOOT 

suggested  the  Oriental  or  Jewish  type.  His 
hands — thin,  slender,  full  of  nerves  which 
projected  like  strings  upon  the  finger-board 
of  a  violin,  and  armed  with  claws  like  those 
on  the  terminations  of  bats*  wings — shook 
with  senile  trembling;  but  those  convul- 
sively agitated  hands  became  firmer  than 
steel  pincers  or  lobsters'  claws  when  they 
lifted  any  precious  article- — an  onyx  cup,  a 
Venetian  glass,  or  a  dish  of  Bohemian  crys- 
tal. This  strange  old  man  had  an  aspect  so 
thoroughly  rabbinical  and  cabalistic  that  he 
would  have  been  burnt  on  the  mere  testi- 
mony of  his  face  three  centuries  ago. 

"  Will  you  not  buy  something  from  me 
to-day,  sir  ?  Here  is  a  Malay  kreese  with 
a  blade  undulating  like  flame.  Look  at 
those  grooves  contrived  for  the  blood  to  run 
along,  those  teeth  set  backward  so  as  to  tear 
out  the  entrails  in  withdrawing  the  weapon. 
It  is  a  fine  character  of  ferocious  arm,  and 
will  look  well  in  your  collection.  This  two- 
handed  sword  is  very  beautiful.  It  is  the 
work  of  Josepe  de  la  Hera;  and  this  coliche- 
marde,  with  its  fenestrated  guard — what  a 
superb  specimen  of  handicraft!  " 


THE  mummy's   foot  225 

**  No;  I  have  quite  enough  weapons  and 
instruments  of  carnage.  I  want  a  small 
figure,  something  which  will  suit  me  as  a 
paper-weight,  for  I  cannot  endure  those 
trumpery  bronzes  which  the  stationers  sell, 
and  which  may  be  found  on  everybody's 
desk." 

The  old  gnome  foraged  among  his  ancient 
wares,  and  finally  arranged  before  me  some 
antique  bronzes,  so-called  at  least;  frag- 
ments of  malachite,  little  Hindoo  or  Chinese 
idols,  a  kind  of  poussah-toys  in  jade-stone, 
representing  the  incarnations  of  Brahma  or 
Vishnoo,  and  wonderfully  appropriate  to  the 
very  undivine  office  of  holding  papers  and 
letters  in  place. 

I  was  hesitating  between  a  porcelain 
dragon,  all  constellated  with  warts,  its 
mouth  formidable  with  bristling  tusks  and 
ranges  of  teeth,  and  an  abominable  little 
Mexican  fetich,  representing  the  god  Vitzi- 
liputzili  au  naturel,  when  I  caught  sight  of 
a  charming  foot,  which  I  at  first  took  for  a 
fragment  of  some  antique  Venus. 

It  had  those  beautiful  ruddy  and  tawny 
tints  that  lend  to  Florentine  bronze  that 
15 


226  THE  MUMMY'S   FOOT 

warm  living  look  so  much  preferable  to  the 
gray-green  aspect  of  common  bronzes,  which 
might  easily  be  mistaken  for  statues  in  a 
state  of  putrefaction.  Satiny  gleams  played 
over  its  rounded  forms,  doubtless  polished 
by  the  amorous  kisses  of  twenty  centuries, 
for  it  seemed  a  Corinthian  bronze,  a  work 
of  the  best  era  of  art,  perhaps  moulded  by 
Lysippus  himself. 

"  That  foot  will  be  my  choice,"  I  said  to 
the  merchant,  who  regarded  me  with  an 
ironical  and  saturnine  air,  and  held  out  the 
object  desired  that  I  might  examine  it  more 
fully. 

I  was  surprised  at  its  lightness.  It  was 
not  a  foot  of  metal,  but  in  sooth  a  foot  of 
flesh,  an  embalmed  foot,  a  mummy's  foot. 
On  examining  it  still  more  closely  the  very 
grain  of  the  skin,  and  the  almost  imper- 
ceptible lines  impressed  upon  it  by  the  tex- 
ture of  the  bandages,  became  perceptible. 
The  toes  were  slender  and  delicate,  and  ter- 
minated by  perfectly  formed  nails,  pure  and 
transparent  as  agates.  The  great  toe, 
slightly  separated  from  the  rest,  afforded  a 
happy  contrast,  in  the  antique  style,  to  the 


THE  MUMMY  S   FOOT  227 

position  of  the  other  toes,  and  lent  it  an 
aerial  lightness — the  grace  of  a  bird's  foot. 
The  sole,  scarcely  streaked  by  a  few  almost 
imperceptible  cross  lines,  afforded  evidence 
that  it  had  never  touched  the  bare  ground, 
and  had  only  come  in  contact  with  the  finest 
matting  of  Nile  rushes  and  the  softest  car- 
pets of  panther  skin. 

"Ha,  ha,  you  want  the  foot  of  the  Prin- 
cess Hermonthis  !  "  exclaimed  the  merchant, 
with  a  strange  giggle,  fixing  his  owlish  eyes 
upon  me.  "  Ha,  ha,  ha!  For  a  paper- 
weight! An  original  idea! — artistic  idea! 
Old  Pharaoh  would  certainly  have  been  sur- 
prised had  some  one  told  him  that  the  foot 
of  his  adored  daughter  would  be  used  for  a 
paper-weight  after  he  had  had  a  mountain 
of  granite  hollowed  out  as  a  receptacle  for 
the  triple  coffin,  painted  and  gilded,  cov- 
ered with  hieroglyphics  and  beautiful  paint- 
ings of  the  Judgment  of  Souls,"  continued 
the  queer  little  merchant,  half  audibly,  as 
though  talking  to  himself. 

How  much  will  you  charge  me  for  this 
mummy  fragment  ?  " 

**  Ah,  the  highest  price  I  can  get,  for  it  is 


228  THE  mummy's   FOOT 

a  superb  piece.  If  I  had  the  match  of  it 
you  could  not  have  it  for  less  than  five  hun- 
dred francs.  The  daughter  of  a  Pharaoh  ! 
Nothing  is  more  rare." 

"  Assuredly  that  is  not  a  common  article, 
but  still,  how  much  do  you  want  ?  In  the 
first  place  let  me  warn  you  that  all  my 
wealth  consists  of  just  five  louis.  I  can  buy 
anything  that  costs  five  louis,  but  nothing 
dearer.  You  might  search  my  vest  pockets 
and  most  secret  drawers  without  even  find- 
ing one  poor  five-franc  piece  more." 

"  Five  louis  for  the  foot  of  the  Princess 
Hermonthis!  That  is  very  little,  very  little 
indeed.  'Tis  an  authentic  foot,"  muttered 
the  merchant,  shaking  his  head,  and  impart- 
ing a  peculiar  rotary  motion  to  his  eyes. 
"  Well,  take  it,  and  I  will  give  you  the  ban- 
dages into  the  bargain,"  he  added,  wrapping 
the  foot  in  an  ancient  damask  rag.  "  Very 
fine  !  Real  damask — Indian  damask  which 
has  never  been  redyed.  It  is  strong,  and 
yet  it  is  soft,"  he  mumbled,  stroking  the 
frayed  tissue  with  his  fingers,  through  the 
trade-acquired  habit  which  moved  him  to 
praise  even  an   object  of  such  little  value 


THE  mummy's   foot  229 

that  he  himself  deemed  it  only  worth  the 
giving  away. 

He  poured  the  gold  coins  into  a  sort  of 
mediseval  alms-purse  hanging  at  his  belt, 
repeating: 

"The  foot  of  the  Princess  Hermonthis 
to  be  used  for  a  paper-weight  !  " 

Then  turning  his  phosphorescent  eyes 
upon  me,  he  exclaimed  in  a  voice  strident 
as  the  crying  of  a  cat  which  has  swallowed  a 
fish-bone  : 

"  Old  Pharaoh  will  not  be  well  pleased. 
He  loved  his  daughter,  the  dear  man  !  " 

'*  You  speak  as  if  you  were  a  contempo- 
rary^ of  his.  You  are  old  enough,  goodness 
knows!  but  you  do  not  date  back  to  the 
Pyramids  of  Egypt,"  I  answered,  laugh- 
ingly, from  the  threshold. 

I  went  home,  delighted  with  my  acquisi- 
tion. 

With  the  idea  of  putting  it  to  profitable 
use  as  soon  as  possible,  I  placed  the  foot  of 
the  divine  Princess  Hermonthis  upon  a  heap 
of  papers  scribbled  over  with  verses,  in  them- 
selves an  undecipherable  mosaic  work  of 
erasures;  articles  freshly  begun  ;  letters  for- 


230  THE  mummy's   FOOT 

gotten,  and  posted  in  the  table  drawer  in- 
stead of  the  letter-box,  an  error  to  which 
absent-minded  people  are  peculiarly  liable. 
The  effect  was  charming,  bizarre^  and  ro- 
mantic. 

Well  satisfied  with  this  embellishment,  I 
went  out  with  the  gravity  and  pride  becom- 
ing one  who  feels  that  he  has  the  ineffable 
advantage  over  all  the  passers-by  whom  he 
elbows,  of  possessing  a  piece  of  the  Princess 
Hermonthis,  daughter  of  Pharaoh. 

I  looked  upon  all  who  did  not  possess, 
like  myself,  a  paper-weight  so  authentically 
Egyptian  as  very  ridiculous  people,  and  it 
seemed  to  me  that  the  proper  occupation  of 
every  sensible  man  should  consist  in  the 
mere  fact  of  having  a  mummy's  foot  upon 
his  desk. 

Happily  I  met  some  friends,  whose  pres- 
ence distracted  me  in  my  infatuation  with 
this  new  acquisition.  I  went  to  dinner  with 
them,  for  I  could  not  very  well  have  dined 
with  myself. 

When  I  came  back  that  evening,  with  my 
brain  slightly  confused  by  a  few  glasses  of 
wine,  a  vague  whiff  of  Oriental  perfume  deli- 


THE   MUMMY  S   FOOT  23I 

cately  titillated  my  olfactory  nerves.  The 
heat  of  the  room  had  warmed  the  natron, 
bitumen,  and  myrrh  in  which  the  para- 
sckisteSj  who  cut  open  the  bodies  of  the 
dead,  had  bathed  the  corpse  of  the  princess. 
It  was  a  perfume  at  once  sweet  and  pene- 
trating, a  perfume  that  four  thousand  years 
had  not  been  able  to  dissipate. 

The  Dream  of  Egypt  was  Eternity.  Her 
odors  have  the  solidity  of  granite  and  en- 
dure as  long. 

I  soon  drank  deeply  from  the  black  cup 
of  sleep.  For  a  few  hours  all  remained 
opaque  to  me.  Oblivion  and  nothingness 
inundated  me  with  their  sombre  waves. 

Yet  light  gradually  dawned  upon  the  dark- 
ness of  my  mind.  Dreams  commenced  to 
touch  me  softly  in  their  silent  flight. 

The  eyes  of  my  soul  were  opened,  and  I 
beheld  my  chamber  as  it  actually  was.  I 
might  have  believed  myself  awake  but  for 
a  vague  consciousness  which  assured  me 
that  I  slept,  and  that  something  fantastic 
was  about  to  take  place. 

The  odor  of  the  myrrh  had  augmented  in 
intensity,  and  I  felt  a  slight  headache,  which 


232  THE  MUMMY'S   FOOT 

I  very  naturally  attributed  to  several  glasses 
of  champagne  that  we  had  drunk  to  the  un- 
known gods  and  our  future  fortunes. 

I  peered  through  my  room  with  a  feeling 
of  expectation  which  I  saw  nothing  to  jus- 
tify. Every  article  of  furniture  was  in  its 
proper  place.  The  lamp,  softly  shaded  by 
its  globe  of  ground  crystal,  burned  upon  its 
bracket;  the  water-color  sketches  shone  un- 
der their  Bohemian  glass;  the  curtains  hung 
down  languidly;  everything  wore  an  aspect 
of  tranquil  slumber. 

After  a  few  moments,  however,  all  this 
calm  interior  appeared  to  become  disturbed. 
The  woodwork  cracked  stealthily,  the  ash- 
covered  log  suddenly  emitted  a  jet  of  blue 
flame,  and  the  disks  of  the  pateras  seemed 
like  great  metallic  eyes,  watching,  like  my- 
self, for  the  things  which  were  about  to 
happen. 

My  eyes  accidentally  fell  upon  the  desk 
where  I  had  placed  the  foot  of  the  Princess 
Hermonthis. 

Instead  of  remaining  quiet,  as  behooved  a 
foot  which  had  been  embalmed  for  four 
thousand  years,  it  commenced  to  act  in  a 


THE  mummy's   foot  233 

nervous  manner,  contracted  itself,  and  leaped 
over  the  papers  like  a  startled  frog.  One 
would  have  imagined  that  it  had  suddenly 
been  brought  into  contact  with  a  galvanic 
battery.  I  could  distinctly  hear  the  dry 
sound  made  by  its  little  heel,  hard  as  the  hoof 
of  a  gazelle. 

I  became  rather  discontented  with  my  ac- 
quisition, inasmuch  as  I  wished  my  paper- 
weights to  be  of  a  sedentary  disposition,  and 
thought  it  very  unnatural  that  feet  should 
walk  about  without  legs,  and  I  commenced 
to  experience  a  feeling  closely  akin  to  fear. 

Suddenly  I  saw  the  folds  of  my  bed-cur- 
tain stir,  and  heard  a  bumping  sound,  like 
that  caused  by  some  person  hopping  on  one 
foot  across  the  floor.  I  must  confess  I  be- 
came alternately  hot  and  cold,  that  I  felt  a 
strange  wind  chill  my  back,  and  that  my 
suddenly  rising  hair  caused  my  night-cap  to 
execute  a  leap  of  several  yards. 

The  bed-curtains  opened  and  I  beheld  the 
strangest  figure  imaginable  before  me. 

It  was  a  young  girl  of  a  very  deep  coffee- 
brown  complexion,  like  the  bayadere  Amani, 
and  possessing  the  purest  Egyptian  type  of 


234  THE  mummy's   FOOT 

perfect  beauty.  Her  eyes  were  almond- 
shaped  and  oblique,  with  eyebrows  so  black 
that  they  seemed  blue;  her  nose  was  ex- 
quisitely chiselled,  almost  Greek  in  its  deli- 
cacy of  outline;  and  she  might  indeed  have 
been  taken  for  a  Corinthian  statue  of  bronze 
but  for  the  prominence  of  her  cheek-bones 
and  the  slightly  African  fulness  of  her  lips, 
which  compelled  one  to  recognize  her  as  be- 
longing beyond  all  doubt  to  the  hieroglyphic 
race  which  dwelt  upon  the  banks  of  the 
Nile. 

Her  arms,  slender  and  spindle-shaped  like 
those  of  very  young  girls,  were  encircled  by 
a  peculiar  kind  of  metal  bands  and  bracelets 
of  glass  beads;  her  hair  was  all  twisted  into 
little  cords,  and  she  wore  upon  her  bosom  a 
little  idol-figure  of  green  paste,  bearing  a 
whip  with  seven  lashes,  which  proved  it  to 
be  an  image  of  Isis  ;  her  brow  was  adorned 
with  a  shining  plate  of  gold,  and  a  few  traces 
of  paint  relieved  the  coppery  tint  of  her 
cheeks. 

As  for  her  costume,  it  was  very  odd  in- 
deed. 

Fancy  ^Lpagne^  or  skirt,  all  formed  of  little 


THE   iMUMMY'S   FOOT  235 

strips  of  material  bedizened  with  red  and 
black  hieroglyphics,  stiffened  with  bitumen, 
and  apparently  belonging  to  a  freshly  un- 
bandaged  mummy. 

In  one  of  those  sudden  flights  of  thought 
so  common  in  dreams  I  heard  the  hoarse 
falsetto  of  the  bric-à-brac  dealer,  repeating 
like  a  monotonous  refrain  the  phrase  he  had 
uttered  in  his  shop  with  so  enigmatical  an 
intonation  : 

"  Old  Pharaoh  will  not  be  well  pleased. 
He  loved  his  daughter,  the  dear  man  !  " 

One  strange  circumstance,  which  was  not 
at  all  calculated  to  restore  my  equanimity, 
was  that  the  apparition  had  but  one  foot; 
the  other  was  broken  off  at  the  ankle  ! 

She  approached  the  table  where  the  foot 
was  starting  and  fidgetting  about  more  than 
ever,  and  there  supported  herself  upon  the 
edge  of  the  desk.  I  saw  her  eyes  fill  with 
pearly  gleaming  tears. 

Although  she  had  not  as  yet  spoken,  I 
fully  comprehended  the  thoughts  which  agi- 
tated her.  She  looked  at  her  foot — for  it 
was  indeed  her  own — with  an  exquisitely 
graceful  expression  of   coquettish  sadness, 


236  THE   MUMMY'S   FOOT 

but  the  foot  leaped  and  ran  hither  and 
thither,  as  though  impelled  on  steel  springs. 

Twice  or  thrice  she  extended  her  hand  to 
seize  it,  but  could  not  succeed. 

Then  commenced  between  the  Princess 
Hermonthis  and  her  foot — which  appeared 
to  be  endowed  with  a  special  life  of  its  own 
— a  very  fantastic  dialogue  in  a  most  ancient 
Coptic  tongue,  such  as  might  have  been 
spoken  thirty  centuries  ago  in  the  syrinxes 
of  the  land  of  Ser.  Luckily  I  understood 
Coptic  perfectly  well  that  night. 

The  Princess  Hermonthis  cried,  in  a  voice 
sweet  and  vibrant  as  the  tones  of  a  crystal 
bell: 

"  Well,  my  dear  little  foot,  you  always 
flee  from  me,  yet  I  always  took  good  care  of 
you.  I  bathed  you  with  perfumed  water  in 
a  bowl  of  alabaster;  I  smoothed  your  heel 
with  pumice-stone  mixed  with  palm  oil; 
your  nails  were  cut  with  golden  scissors  and 
polished  with  a  hippopotamus  tooth;  I  was 
careful  to  select  tatbebs  for  you,  painted  and 
embroidered  and  turned  up  at  the  toes, 
which  were  the  envy  of  all  the  young  girls 
in  Egypt.     You  wore  on  your  great  toe  rings 


THE   MUMMY'S   FOOT  237 

bearing  the  device  of  the  sacred  Scarabaeus, 
and  you  supported  one  of  the  lightest  bodies 
that  a  lazy  foot  could  sustain." 

The  foot  replied  in  a  pouting  and  chagrined 
tone: 

**  You  know  well  that  I  do  not  belong  to 
myself  any  longer.  I  have  been  bought  and 
paid  for.  The  old  merchant  knew  what  he 
was  about.  He  bore  you  a  grudge  for  hav- 
ing refused  to  espouse  him.  This  is  an  ill 
turn  which  he  has  done  you.  The  Arab 
who  violated  your  royal  coffin  in  the  subter- 
ranean pits  of  the  necropolis  of  Thebes  was 
sent  thither  by  him.  He  desired  to  prevent 
you  from  being  present  at  the  reunion  of 
the  shadowy  nations  in  the  cities  below. 
Have  you  five  pieces  of  gold  for  my  ran- 
som ?" 

"Alas,  no!  My  jewels,  my  rings,  my 
purses  of  gold  and  silver  were  all  stolen 
from  me,"  answered  the  Princess  Hermon- 
this,  with  a  sob. 

**  Princess,"  I  then  exclaimed,  **  I  never 
retained  anybody's  foot  unjustly.  Even 
though  you  have  not  got  the  five  louis  which 
it  cost  me,  I  present  it  to  you  gladly,     I 


238  THE  MUMMY'S   FOOT 

should  feel  unutterably  wretched  to  think 
that  I  were  the  cause  of  so  amiable  a  person 
as  the  Princess  Hermonthis  being  lame." 

I  delivered  this  discourse  in  a  royally  gal- 
lant, troubadour  tone  which  must  have  aston- 
ished the  beautiful  Egyptian  girl. 

She  turned  a  look  of  deepest  gratitude 
upon  me,  and  her  eyes  shone  with  bluish 
gleams  of  light. 

She  took  her  foot,  which  surrendered 
itself  willingly  this  time,  like  a  woman  about 
to  put  on  her  little  shoe,  and  adjusted  it  to 
her  leg  with  much  skill. 

This  operation  over,  she  took  a  few  steps 
about  the  room,  as  though  to  assure  herself 
that  she  was  really  no  longer  lame. 

"  Ah,  how  pleased  my  father  will  be  !  He 
who  was  so  unhappy  because  of  my  mutila- 
tion, and  who  from  the  moment  of  my  birth 
set  a  whole  nation  at  work  to  hollow  me  out 
a  tomb  so  deep  that  he  might  preserve  me 
intact  until  that  last  day,  when  souls  must 
be  weighed  in  the  balance  of  Amenthi! 
Come  with  me  to  my  father.  He  will  re- 
ceive you  kindly,  for  you  have  given  me 
back  my  foot." 


THE  MUMMY'S   FOOT  239 

I  thought  this  proposition  natural  enough. 
I  arrayed  myself  in  a  dressing-gown  of  large- 
flowered  pattern,  which  lent  me  a  very 
Pharaonic  aspect,  hurriedly  put  on  a  pair  of 
Turkish  slippers,  and  informed  the  Princess 
Hermonthis  that  I  was  ready  to  follow  her. 

Before  starting,  Hermonthis  took  from 
her  neck  the  little  idol  of  green  paste,  and 
laid  it  on  the  scattered  sheets  of  paper  which 
covered  the  table. 

"  It  is  only  fair,"  she  observed,  smilingly, 
**  that  I  should  replace  your  paper-weight." 

She  gave  me  her  hand,  which  felt  soft  and 
cold,  like  the  skin  of  a  serpent,  and  we  de- 
parted. 

We  passed  for  some  time  with  the  velocity 
of  an  arrow  through  a  fluid  and  grayish  ex- 
panse, in  which  half-formed  silhouettes 
flitted  swiftly  by  us,  to  right  and  left. 

For  an  instant  we  saw  only  sky  and  sea. 

A  few  moments  later  obelisks  commenced 
to  tower  in  the  distance;  pylons  and  vast 
flights  of  steps  guarded  by  sphinxes  became 
clearly  outlined  against  the  horizon. 

We  had  reached  our  destination. 

The  princess  conducted  me  to  a  mountain 


24©  THE  MUMMY'S   FOOT 

of  rose-colored  granite,  in  the  face  of  which 
appeared  an  opening  so  narrow  and  low  that 
it  would  have  been  difficult  to  distinguish  it 
from  the  fissures  in  the  rock,  had  not  its 
location  been  marked  by  two  stelae  wrought 
with  sculptures. 

Hermonthis  kindled  a  torch  and  led  the 
way  before  me. 

We  traversed  corridors  hewn  through  the 
living  rock.  Their  walls,  covered  with  hiero- 
glyphics and  paintings  of  allegorical  proces- 
sions, might  well  have  occupied  thousands 
of  arms  for  thousands  of  years  in  their  for- 
mation. These  corridors  of  interminable 
length  opened  into  square  chambers,  in  the 
midst  of  which  pits  had  been  contrived, 
through  which  we  descended  by  cramp-irons 
or  spiral  stairways.  These  pits  again  con- 
ducted us  into  other  chambers,  opening  into 
other  corridors,  likewise  decorated  with 
painted  sparrow-hawks,  serpents  coiled  in 
circles,  the  symbols  of  the  tau  ^nà  pedum — 
prodigious  works  of  art  which  no  living  eye 
can  ever  examine — interminable  legends  of 
granite  which  only  the  dead  have  time  to 
read  through  all  eternity. 


THE  mummy's   foot  24I 

At  last  we  found  ourselves  in  a  hall  so 
vast,  so  enormous,  so  immeasurable,  that 
the  eye  could  not  reach  its  limits.  Files  of 
monstrous  columns  stretched  far  out  of  sight 
on  every  side,  between  which  twinkled  livid 
stars  of  yellowish  flame;  points  of  light 
which  revealed  further  depths  incalculable 
in  the  darkness  beyond. 

The  Princess  Hermonthis  still  held  my 
hand,  and  graciously  saluted  the  mummies 
of  her  acquaintance. 

My  eyes  became  accustomed  to  the  dim 
twilight,  and  objects  became  discernible. 

I  beheld  the  kings  of  the  subterranean 
races  seated  upon  thrones — grand  old  men, 
though  dry,  withered,  wrinkled  like  parch- 
ment, and  blackened  with  naphtha  and  bitu- 
men— all  \YQ^nngpshents  of  gold,  and  breast- 
plates and  gorgets  glittering  with  precious 
stones,  their  eyes  immovably  fixed  like  the 
eyes  of  spinxes,  and  their  long  beards  whit- 
ened by  the  snow  of  centuries.  Behind 
them  stood  their  peoples,  in  the  stiff  and 
constrained  posture  enjoined  by  Egyptian 
art,  all  eternally  preserving  the  attitude  pre- 
scribed by  the  hieratic  code.  Behind  these 
16 


242  THE  MUMMY  S   FOOT 

nations,  the  cats,  ibixes,  and  crocodiles  con- 
temporary with  them — rendered  monstrous 
of  aspect  by  their  swathing  bands — mewed, 
flapped  their  wings,  or  extended  their  jaws 
in  a  saurian  giggle. 

All  the  Pharaohs  were  there — Cheops, 
Chephrenes,  Psammetichus,  Sesostris,  Ame- 
notaph — all  the  dark  rulers  of  the  pyramids 
and  syrinxes.  On  yet  higher  thrones  sat 
Chronos  and  Xixouthros,  who  was  contem- 
porary with  the  deluge,  and  Tubal  Cain, 
who  reigned  before  it. 

The  beard  of  King  Xixouthros  had  grown 
seven  times  around  the  granite  table,  upon 
which  he  leaned,  lost  in  deep  reverie,  and 
buried  in  dreams. 

Farther  back,  through  a  dusty  cloud,  I 
beheld  dimly  the  seventy-two  preadamite 
kings,  with  their  seventy-two  peoples,  for- 
ever passed  away. 

After  permitting  me  to  gaze  upon  this 
bewildering  spectacle  a  few  moments,  the 
Princess  Hermonthis  presented  me  to  her 
father  Pharaoh,  who  favored  me  with  a  most 
gracious  nod. 

**  I  have  found  my  foot  again!     I   have 


THE   MUMMY'S   FOOT  243 

found  my  foot!"  cried  the  princess,  clap- 
ping her  little  hands  together  with  every 
sign  of  frantic  joy.  "  It  was  this  gentleman 
who  restored  it  to  me." 

The  races  of  Kemi,  the  races  of  Nahasi — 
all  the  black,  bronzed,  and  copper-colored 
nations  repeated  in  chorus  : 

*'  The  Princess  Hermonthis  has  found  her 
foot  again  !  " 

Even  Xixouthros  himself  was  visibly 
affected. 

He  raised  his  heavy  eyelids,  stroked  his 
mustache  with  his  fingers,  and  turned  upon 
me  a  glance  weighty  with  centuries. 

"  By  0ms,  the  dog  of  Hell,  and  Tmei, 
daughter  of  the  Sun  and  of  Truth,  this  is  a 
brave  and  worthy  lad  !  "  exclaimed  Pharaoh, 
pointing  to  me  with  his  sceptre,  which  was 
terminated  with  a  lotus-flower. 

"  What  recompense  do  you  desire  ?  " 

Filled  with  that  daring  inspired  by 
dreams  in  which  nothing  seems  impossible, 
I  asked  him  for  the  hand  of  the  Princess 
Hermonthis.  The  hand  seemed  to  me  a 
very  proper  antithetic  recompense  for  the 
foot. 


244  THE  MUMMY  S   FOOT 

Pharaoh  opened  wide  his  great  eyes  of 
glass  in  astonishment  at  my  witty  request. 

"  What  country  do  you  come  from,  and 
what  is  your  age  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  Frenchman,  and  I  am  twenty- 
seven  years  old,  venerable  Pharaoh." 

**  Twenty-seven  years  old,  and  he  wishes 
to  espouse  the  Princess  Hermonthis  who 
is  thirty  centuries  old!"  cried  out  at  once 
all  the  Thrones  and  all  the  Circles  of  Na- 
tions. 

Only  Hermonthis  herself  did  not  seem  to 
think  my  request  unreasonable. 

"  If  you  were  even  only  two  thousand 
years  old,"  replied  the  ancient  king,  "  I 
would  willingly  give  you  the  princess,  but 
the  disproportion  is  too  great  ;  and,  besides, 
we  must  give  our  daughters  husbands  who 
will  last  well.  You  do  not  know  how  to 
preserve  yourselves  any  longer.  Even  those 
who  died  only  fifteen  centuries  ago  are 
already  no  more  than  a  handful  of  dust. 
Behold,  my  flesh  is  solid  as  basalt,  my  bones 
are  bars  of  steel  ! 

"  I  will  be  present  on  the  last  day  of  the 
world  with  the  same  body  and  the  same  fea- 


THE   mummy's   foot  245 

tures  which  I  had  during  my  lifetime.  My 
daughter  Hermonthis  will  last  longer  than  a 
statue  of  bronze. 

**  Then  the  last  particles  of  your  dust  will 
have  been  scattered  abroad  by  the  winds, 
and  even  Isis  herself,  who  was  able  to  find 
the  atoms  of  Osiris,  would  scarce  be  able  to 
recompose  your  being. 

'*  See  how  vigorous  I  yet  remain,  and  how 
mighty  is  my  grasp,"  he  added,  shaking  my 
hand  in  the  English  fashion  with  a  strength 
that  buried  my  rings  in  the  flesh  of  my 
fingers. 

He  squeezed  me  so  hard  that  I  awoke, 
and  found  my  friend  Alfred  shaking  me  by 
the  arm  to  make  me  get  up. 

"  Oh,  you  everlasting  sleeper!  Must  I 
have  you  carried  out  into  the  middle  of  the 
street,  and  fireworks  exploded  in  your  ears  ? 
It  is  afternoon.  Don't  you  recollect  your 
promise  to  take  me  with  you  to  see  M. 
Aguado's  Spanish  pictures  ?" 

**God!  I  forgot  all,  all  about  it,"  I  an- 
swered, dressing  myself  hurriedly.  "  We 
will  go  there  at  once.  I  have  the  permit 
lying  there  on  my  desk." 


246  THE  mummy's   foot 

I  started  to  find  it,  but  fancy  my  astonish- 
ment when  I  beheld,  instead  of  the  mummy's 
foot  I  had  purchased  the  evening  before,  the 
little  green  paste  idol  left  in  its  place  by  the 
Princess  Hermonthis! 


Omphale  :    A  Rococo  Story 


ÇMPHALE: 
A  fiOCOC© 

STdi" 


My  uncle,  the  Chevalier  de  ,  resided 

in  a  small  mansion  which  looked  out  upon 
the  dismal  Rue  de  Tournelles  on  one  side, 
and  the  equally  dismal  Boulevard  St.  An- 
toine upon  the  other.  Between  the  Boule- 
vard and  the  house  itself  a  few  ancient  elm- 
trees,  eaten  alive  by  mosses  and  insects, 
piteously  extended  their  skeleton  arms  from 
the  depth  of  a  species  of  sink  surrounded  by 
high  black  walls.  Some  emaciated  flowers 
hung  their  heads  languidly,  like  young  girls 
in  consumption,  waiting  for  a  ray  of  sun- 
shine to  dry  their  half-rotten  leaves.  Weeds 
had  invaded  the  walks,  which  were  almost 
undistinguishable,  owing  to  the  length  of 
time  that  had  elapsed  since  they  were  last 


250        OMPHALE  :  A  ROCOCO  STORY 

raked.  One  or  two  goldfish  floated  rather 
than  swam  in  a  basin  covered  with  duck- 
weed and  half-choked  by  water  plants. 

My  uncle  called  that  his  garden  ! 

Besides  all  the  fine  things  above  described 
in  my  uncle's  garden,  there  was  also  a  rather 
unpleasant  pavilion,  which  he  had  entitled 
the  Délices^  doubtless  by  antiphrasis.  It 
was  in  a  state  of  extreme  dilapidation.  The 
walls  were  bulging  outwardly.  Great  masses 
of  detached  plaster  still  lay  among  the  net- 
tles and  wild  oats  where  they  had  fallen. 
The  lower  portions  of  the  wall  surfaces  were 
green  with  putrid  mould.  The  woodwork 
of  the  window-shutters  and  doors  had  been 
badly  sprung,  and  they  closed  only  partially 
or  not  at  all.  A  species  of  decoration, 
strongly  suggestive  of  an  immense  kitchen- 
pot  with  various  effluvia  radiating  from  it, 
ornamented  the  main  entrance,  for  in  the 
time  of  Louis  XV.,  when  it  was  the  custom 
to  build  DéliceSy  there  were  always  two  en- 
trances to  such  pleasure  houses  for  precau- 
tion's sake.  The  cornice,  overburdened 
with  ovulos,  foliated  arabesques,  and  volutes, 
had  been  badly  dismantled  by  the  infiltra- 


OMPHALE  ;   A  ROCOCO  STORY  25 1 

tion  of  rain-water.     In  short,  the  Délices  of 

my  uncle,  the  Chevalier  de ,  presented 

a  rather  lamentable  aspect. 

This  poor  ruin,  dating  only  from  yester- 
day, although  wearing  the  dilapidated  look 
of  a  thousand  years'  decay — a  ruin  of  plas- 
ter, not  of  stone,  all  cracked  and  warped, 
covered  with  a  leprosy  of  lichen  growth, 
moss-eaten  and  mouldy — seemed  to  resem- 
ble one  of  those  precociously  old  men  worn 
out  by  filthy  debauches.  It  inspired  no  feel- 
ing of  respect,  for  there  is  nothing  in  the 
world  so  ugly  and  so  wretched  as  either  an 
old  gauze  robe  or  an  old  plaster  wall,  two 
things  which  ought  not  to  endure,  yet  which 
do. 

It  was  in  this  pavilion  that  my  uncle  had 
lodged  me. 

The  interior  was  not  less  rococo  than  the 
exterior,  although  remaining  in  a  somewhat 
better  state  of  preservation.  The  bed  was 
hung  with  yellow  lampas,  spotted  over  with 
large  white  flowers.  An  ornamental  shell- 
work  clock  ticked  away  upon  a  pedestal  in- 
laid with  ivory  and  mother-of-pearl.  A 
wreath   of    ornamental    roses    coquettishly 


252        OMPHALE  :  A  ROCOCO  STORY 

twined  around  a  Venetian  glass.  Above  the 
door  the  Four  Seasons  were  painted  in 
cameo.  A  fair  lady  with  thickly  powdered 
hair,  a  sky-blue  corset,  and  an  array  of  rib- 
bons of  the  same  hue,  who  had  a  bow  in  her 
right  hand,  a  partridge  in  her  left,  a  crescent 
upon  her  forehead,  and  a  leverette  at  her  feet, 
strutted  and  smiled  with  ineffable  gracious- 
ness  from  within  a  large  oval  frame.  This 
was  one  of  my  uncle's  mistresses  of  old, 
whom  he  had  had  painted  as  Diana.  It 
will  scarcely  be  necessary  to  observe  that 
the  furniture  itself  was  not  of  the  most  mod- 
ern style.  There  was,  in  fact,  nothing  to 
prevent  one  from  fancying  himself  living  at 
the  time  of  the  Regency,  and  the  mytholog- 
ical tapestry  with  which  the  walls  were  hung 
rendered  the  illusion  complete. 

The  tapestry  represented  Hercules  spin- 
ning at  the  feet  of  Omphale.  The  design 
was  tormented  after  the  fashion  of  Vanloo, 
and  in  the  most  Pompadour  style  possible 
to  imagine.  Hercules  had  a  spindle  deco- 
rated with  rose-colored  favors.  He  elevated 
his  little  linger  with  a  peculiar  and  special 
grace,  like  a  marquis  in  the  act  of  taking  a 


OMPHALE  :   A   ROCOCO   STORY  253 

pinch  of  snuff,  while  turning  a  white  flake 
of  flax  between  his  thumb  and  index  finger. 
His  muscular  neck  was  burdened  with  bows 
of  ribbons,  rosettes,  strings  of  pearls,  and  a 
thousand  other  feminine  gew-gaws,  and  a 
large  gorge-de -pigeon  colored  petticoat,  with 
two  very  large  panniers,  lent  quite  a  gallant 
air  to  the  monster-conquering  hero. 

Omphale's  white  shoulders  were  half  cov- 
ered by  the  skin  of  the  Nemean  lion.  Her 
slender  hand  leaned  upon  her  lover's  knotty 
club.  Her  lovely  blonde  hair,  powdered  to 
ash-color,  fell  loosely  over  her  neck — a  neck 
as  supple  and  undulating  in  its  outlines  as 
the  neck  of  a  dove.  Her  little  feet,  true 
realizations  of  the  typical  Andalusian  or 
Chinese  foot,  and  which  would  have  been 
lost  in  Cinderella's  glass  slippers,  were  shod 
with  half-antique  buskins  of  a  tender  lilac 
color,  sprinkled  with  pearls.  In  truth,  she 
was  a  charming  creature.  Her  head  was 
thrown  back  with  an  adorable  little  mock 
swagger,  her  dimpled  mouth  wore  a  delicious 
little  pout,  her  nostrils  were  slightly  expanded, 
her  cheeks  had  a  delicate  glow — an  assassin  * 
*  Beauty-spot. 


254  OMPHALE  :   A  ROCOCO   STORY 

cunningly  placed  there  relieved  their  beauty 
in  a  wonderful  way;  she  only  needed  a  little 
mustache  to  make  her  a  first-class  mousque- 
taire. 

There  were  many  other  personages  also 
represented  in  the  tapestry — the  kindly 
female  attendant,  the  indispensable  little 
Cupid — but  they  did  not  leave  a  sufficiently 
distinct  outline  in  my  memory  to  enable  me 
to  describe  them. 

In  those  days  I  was  quite  young — not  that 
I  wish  to  be  understood  as  saying  that  I  am 
now  very  old  ;  but  I  was  fresh  from  college, 
and  was  to  remain  in  my  uncle's  care  until 
I  could  choose  a  profession.  If  the  good 
man  had  been  able  to  foresee  that  I  should 
embrace  that  of  a  fantastic  story-writer,  he 
would  certainly  have  turned  me  out  of  doors 
forthwith  and  irrevocably  disinherited  me, 
for  he  always  entertained  the  most  aristo- 
cratic contempt  for  literature  in  general  and 
authors  in  particular.  Like  the  fine  gentle- 
man that  he  was,  it  would  have  pleased  him 
to  have  had  all  those  petty  scribblers  who 
busy  themselves  in  disfiguring  paper,  and 
speaking  irreverentially  about  people  of  qual- 


OMPHALE  :  A  ROCOCO  STORY        255 

ity,  hung  or  beaten  to  death  by  his  attend- 
ants. Lord  have  mercy  on  my  poor  uncle  ! 
He  really  esteemed  nothing  in  the  world 
except  the  epistle  to  Zetulba. 

Well,  then,  I  had  only  just  left  college. 
I  was  full  of  dreams  and  illusions.  I  was  as 
naïve  as  a  rosière  of  Salency,  perhaps  more 
so.  Delighted  at  having  no  more  pensums 
to  make,  everything  seemed  to  me  for  the 
best  in  the  best  of  all  possible  worlds.  I  be- 
lieved in  an  infinity  of  things.  I  believed 
in  M.  de  Florian's  shepherdess  with  her 
combed  and  powdered  sheep.  I  never  for  a 
moment  doubted  the  reality  of  Madame 
Deshoulière's  flock.  I  believed  that  there 
were  actually  nine  muses,  as  stated  in  Father 
Jouvency's  Appendix  de  Diis  et  Heroïbus, 
My  recollections  of  Berquin  and  of  Gessner 
had  created  a  little  world  for  me  in  which 
everything  was  rose-colored,  sky-blue,  and 
apple-green.  Oh,  holy  innocence  ! — sancta 
simplicitas  !  as  Mephistopheles  says. 

When  I  found  myself  alone  in  this  fine 
room — my  own  room,  all  to  myself  ! — I  felt 
superlatively  overjoyed.  I  made  a  careful 
inventory  of  everything,  even  the  smallest 


256  OMPHALE  :    A   ROCOCO   STORY 

article  of  furniture.  I  rummaged  every  cor- 
ner, and  explored  the  chamber  in  the  fullest 
sense  of  the  word.  I  was  in  the  fourth 
heaven,  as  happy  as  a  king,  or  rather  as  two 
kings.  After  supper  (for  we  used  to  sup  at 
my  uncle's — a  charming  custom,  now  obso- 
lete, together  with  many  other  equally 
charming  customs  which  I  mourn  for  with 
all  the  heart  I  have  left),  I  took  my  candle 
and  retired  forthwith,  so  impatient  did  I 
feel  to  enjoy  my  new  dwelling-place. 

While  I  was  undressing  I  fancied  that 
Omphale's  eyes  had  moved.  I  looked  more 
attentively  in  that  direction,  not  without  a 
slight  sensation  of  fear,  for  the  room  was 
very  large,  and  the  feeble  luminous  penum- 
bra which  floated  about  the  candle  only 
served  to  render  the  darkness  still  more  vis- 
ible. I  thought  I  saw  her  turning  her  head 
toward  me.  I  became  frightened  in  earnest, 
and  blew  out  the  light.  I  turned  my  face 
to  the  wall,  pulled  the  bed-clothes  over  my 
head,  drew  my  night-cap  down  to  my  chin, 
and  finally  went  to  sleep. 

I  did  not  dare  to  look  at  the  accursed 
tapestry  again  for  several  days. 


OMPHALE  :    A   ROCOCO   STORY  257 

It  may  be  well  here,  for  the  sake  of  im- 
parting something  of  verisimilitude  to  the 
very  unlikely  story  I  am  about  to  relate,  to 
inform  my  fair  readers  that  in  those  days  I 
was  really  a  very  pretty  boy.  I  had  the 
handsomest  eyes  in  the  world,  at  least  they 
used  to  tell  me  so  ;  a  much  fairer  complexion 
than  I  have  now,  a  true  carnation  tint; 
curly  brown  hair,  which  I  still  have,  and  sev- 
enteen years,  which  I  have  no  longer.  I 
needed  only  a  pretty  stepmother  to  be  a 
very  tolerable  cherub.  Unfortunately  mine 
was  fifty-seven  years  of  age,  and  had  only 
three  teeth,  which  was  too  much  of  one 
thing  and  too  little  of  the  other. 

One  evening,  however,  I  finally  plucked 
up  courage  enough  to  take  a  peep  at  the  fair 
mistress  of  Hercules.  She  was  looking  at 
me  with  the  saddest  and  most  languishing 
expression  possible.  This  time  I  pulled  my 
nightcap  down  to  my  very  shoulders,  and 
buried  my  head  in  the  coverlets. 

I  had  a  strange  dream  that  night,  if  in- 
deed it  was  a  dream. 

I  heard  the  rings  of  my  bed-curtains  slid- 
ing with  a  sharp  squeak  upon  their  curtain- 
17 


258  OMPHALE  :   A   ROCOCO   STORY 

rods,  as  if  the  curtains  had  been  suddenly 
pulled  back.  I  awoke,  at  least  in  my  dream 
it  seemed  to  me  that  I  awoke.     I  saw  no  one. 

The  moon  shone  full  upon  the  window- 
panes,  and  projected  her  wan  bluish  light 
into  the  room.  Vast  shadows,  fantastic 
forms,  were  defined  upon  the  floor  and  the 
walls.  The  clock  chimed  a  quarter,  and  the 
vibration  of  the  sound  took  a  long  time  to 
die  away.  It  seemed  like  a  sigh.  The 
plainly  audible  strokes  of  the  pendulum 
seemed  like  the  pulsations  of  a  young  heart, 
throbbing  with  passion. 

I  felt  anything  but  comfortable,  and  a 
very  bewilderment  of  fear  took  possession 
of  me. 

A  furious  gust  of  wind  banged  the  shut- 
ters and  made  the  window-sashes  tremble. 
The  woodwork  cracked,  the  tapestry  un- 
dulated. I  ventured  to  glance  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Omphale,  with  a  vague  suspicion  that 
she  was  instrumental  in  all  this  unpleasant- 
ness, for  some  secret  purpose  of  her  own. 
I  was  not  mistaken. 

The  tapestry  became  violently  agitated. 
Omphale  detached  herself  from  the  wall  and 


OMPHALE  :  A  ROCOCO  STORY        259 

leaped  lightly  to  the  carpet.  She  came 
straight  toward  my  bed,  after  having  first 
turned  herself  carefully  in  my  direction.  I 
fancy  it  will  hardly  be  necessary  to  describe 
my  stupefaction.  The  most  intrepid  old 
soldier  would  not  have  felt  very  comfortable 
under  similar  circumstances,  and  I  was 
neither  old  nor  a  soldier.  I  awaited  the  end 
of  the  adventure  in  terrified  silence. 

A  flute-toned,  pearly  little  voice  sounded 
softly  in  my  ears,  with  that  pretty  lisp 
affected  during  the  Regency  by  marchion- 
esses and  people  of  high  degree  : 

"  Do  I  really  frighten  you,  my  child  ?  It 
is  true  that  you  are  only  a  child,  but  it  is 
not  nice  to  be  afraid  of  ladies,  especially 
when  they  are  young  ladies  and  only  wish 
you  well.  It  is  uncivil  and  unworthy  of  a 
French  gentleman.  You  must  be  cured  of 
such  silly  fears.  Come,  little  savage,  leave 
ofï  these  foolish  airs,  and  cease  hiding  your 
head  under  the  bedclothes.  Your  education 
is  by  no  means  complete  yet,  my  pretty 
page,  and  you  have  not  learned  so  very 
much.  In  my  time  cherubs  were  more  cour- 
ageous." 


26o        OMPHALE  :  A  ROCOCO  STORY 


But,  lady,  it  is  because- 


**  Because  it  seems  strange  to  you  to  find 
me  here  instead  of  there,"  she  said,  biting 
her  ruddy  lip  with  her  white  teeth,  and 
pointing  toward  the  wall  with  her  long  taper 
finger.  **  Well,  in  fact,  the  thing  does  not 
look  very  natural,  but  were  I  to  explain  it 
all  to  you,  you  would  be  none  the  wiser. 
Let  it  be  sufificient  for  you  to  know  that  you 
are  not  in  any  danger." 

I  am  afraid  you  may  be  the — the — — " 

"The  devil — out  with  the  word! — is  it 
not  ?  That  is  what  you  wanted  to  say. 
Well,  at  least  you  will  grant  that  I  am  not 
black  enough  for  a  devil,  and  that  if  hell 
were  peopled  with  devils  shaped  as  I  am, 
one  might  have  quite  as  pleasant  a  time 
there  as  in  Paradise." 

And  to  prove  that  she  was  not  flattering 
herself,  Omphale  threw  back  her  lion's  skin 
and  allowed  me  to  behold  her  exquisitely 
moulded  shoulders  and  bosom,  dazzling  in 
their  white  beauty. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  me  ?  "  she 
exclaimed,  with  a  pretty  little  air  of  satisfied 
coquetry. 


OMPHALE  :    A   ROCOCO   STORY  26 1 

"  I  think  that  even  were  you  the  devil 
himself  I  should  not  feel  afraid  of  you  any 
more,  Madame  Omphale." 

"  Ah,  now  you  talk  sensibly,  but  do  not 
call  me  madame,  or  Omphale.  I  do  not  wish 
you  to  look  upon  me  as  a  madame,  and  I  am 
no  more  Omphale  than  I  am  the  devil." 

"  Then  who  are  you  ?  " 

"  I    am    the    Marchioness   de  T .     A 

short  time  after  I  was  married  the  marquis 
had  this  tapestry  made  for  my  apartments, 
and  had  me  represented  on  it  in  the  charac- 
ter of  Omphale.  He  himself  figures  there 
as  Hercules.  That  was  a  queer  notion  he 
took,  for  God  knows  there  never  was  any- 
body in  the  world  who  bore  less  resemblance 
to  Hercules  than  the  poor  marquis  !  It  has 
been  a  long  time  since  this  chamber  was 
occupied.  I  naturally  love  company,  and  I 
almost  died  of  ennui  in  consequence.  It 
gave  me  the  headache.  To  be  only  with 
one's  husband  is  the  same  thing  as  being 
alone.  When  you  came  I  was  overjoyed. 
This  dead  room  became  reanimated.  I  had 
found  some  one  to  feel  interested  in.  I 
watched  you  come  in  and  go  out,  I  heard 


202  OMPHALE  :   A   ROCOCO   STORY 

you  murmuring  in  your  sleep,  I  watched  you 
reading,  and  my  eyes  followed  the  pages. 
I  found  you  were  nicely  behaved,  and  had  a 
fresh,  innocent  way  about  you  that  pleased 
me.  In  short,  I  fell  in  love  with  you.  I 
tried  to  make  you  understand.  I  sighed. 
You  thought  it  was  only  the  sighing  of  the 
wind.  I  made  signs  to  you.  I  looked  at 
you  with  languishing  eyes,  and  only  suc- 
ceeded in  frightening  you  terribly.  So  at 
last  in  despair  I  resolved  upon  this  rather 
improper  course  which  I  have  taken,  to  tell 
you  frankly  what  you  could  not  take  a  hint 
about.  Now  that  you  know  I  love  you,  I 
hope  that " 

The  conversation  was  interrupted  at  this 
juncture  by  the  grating  of  a  key  in  the  lock 
of  the  chamber  door. 

Omphale  started  and  blushed  to  the  very 
whites  of  her  eyes. 

"Adieu,"  she  whispered,  "till  to-mor- 
row.** And  she  returned  to  her  place  on 
the  wall,  walking  backward,  for  fear  that  I 
should  see  her  reverse  side,  doubtless. 

It  was  Baptiste,  who  came  to  brush  my 
clothes. 


OMPHALE :  A  ROCOCO  STORY        263 

"  You  ought  not  to  sleep  with  your  bed- 
curtains  open,  sir,"  he  remarked.  "You 
might  catch  a  bad  cold.  This  room  is  so 
chilly." 

The  curtains  were  actually  open,  and  as  I 
had  been  under  the  impression  that  I  was 
only  dreaming,  I  felt  very  much  astonished, 
for  I  was  certain  that  they  had  been  closed 
when  I  went  to  bed. 

As  soon  as  Baptiste  left  the  room,  I  ran 
to  the  tapestry.  I  felt  it  all  over.  It  was 
indeed  a  real  woollen  tapestry,  rough  to  the 
touch  like  any  other  tapestry.  Omphale 
resembled  the  charming  phantom  of  the 
night  only  as  a  dead  body  resembles  a  liv- 
ing one.  I  lifted  the  hangings.  The  wall 
was  solid  throughout.  There  were  no 
masked  panels  or  secret  doors.  I  only  no- 
ticed that  a  few  threads  were  broken  in  the 
groundwork  of  the  tapestry  where  the  feet 
of  Omphale  rested.  This  afforded  me  food 
for  reflection. 

All  that  day  I  remained  buried  in  the 
deepest  brown  study  imaginable.  I  longed 
for  evening  with  a  mingled  feeling  of  anx- 
iety and    impatience.     I    retired   early,    re- 


204  OMPHALE  :  A  ROCOCO  STORY 

solved  on  learning  how  this  mystery  was 
going  to  end.  I  got  into  bed.  The  mar- 
chioness did  not  keep  me  waiting  long.  She 
leaped  down  from  the  tapestry  in  front  of 
the  pier-glass,  and  dropped  right  by  my 
bed.  She  seated  herself  by  my  pillow,  and 
the  conversation  commenced. 

I  asked  her  questions  as  I  had  done  the 
evening  before,  and  demanded  explana- 
tions. She  eluded  the  former,  and  re- 
plied in  an  evasive  manner  to  the  latter, 
yet  always  after  so  witty  a  fashion  that 
within  a  quarter  of  an  hour  I  felt  no  scru- 
ples whatever  in  regard  to  my  liaison  with 
her. 

While  conversing  she  passed  her  fingers 
through  my  hair,  tapped  me  gently  on  the 
cheeks,  and  softly  kissed  my  forehead. 

She  chatted  and  chatted  in  a  pretty  mock- 
ing way,  in  a  style  at  once  elegantly  polished 
and  yet  familiar  and  altogether  like  a  great 
lady,  such  as  I  have  never  since  heard  from 
the  lips  of  any  human  being. 

She  was  then  seated  upon  the  easy-chair 
beside  the  bed.  In  a  little  while  she  slipped 
one  of  her  arms  around  my  neck,  and  I  felt 


OMPHALE  :   A   ROCOCO   STORY  265 

her  heart  beating  passionately  against  me. 
It  was  indeed  a  charming  and  handsome  real 
woman,  a  veritable  marchioness  whom  I 
found  beside  me,  poor  student  of  seven- 
teen !  There  was  more  than  enough  to  make 
one  lose  his  head,  so  I  lost  mine.  I  did  not 
know  very  well  what  was  going  to  happen, 
but  I  felt  a  vague  presentiment  that  it  would 
displease  the  marquis. 

**  And  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  on  the  wall 
up  there — what  will  he  say  ?" 

The  lion's  skin  had  fallen  to  the  floor,  and 
the  soft  lilac-colored  buskins,  filigreed  with 
silver,  were  lying  beside  my  shoes. 

"  He  will  not  say  anything,"  replied  the 
marchioness,  laughing  heartily.  "  Do  you 
suppose  he  ever  sees  anything  ?  Besides, 
even  should  he  see,  he  is  the  most  philo- 
sophical and  inoffensive  husband  in  the 
world.  He  is  used  to  such  things.  Do  you 
love  me,  little  one  ?" 

**  Indeed    I  do,    ever  so   much  ! — ever    so 
much!" 

Morning  dawned.  My  mistress  stole 
away. 


266        OMPHALE  :  A  ROCOCO  STORY 

The  day  seemed  to  me  frightfully  long. 
At  last  evening  came.  The  same  things 
happened  as  on  the  evening  before,  and  the 
second  night  left  no  regrets  for  the  first. 
The  marchioness  became  more  and  more 
adorable,  and  this  state  of  affairs  continued 
for  a  long  time.  As  I  never  slept  at  night, 
I  wore  a  somnolent  expression  in  the  day- 
time which  did  not  augur  well  for  me  with 
my  uncle.  He  suspected  something.  He 
probably  listened  at  the  door  and  heard 
everything,  for  one  fine  morning  he  entered 
my  room  so  brusquely  that  Antoinette  had 
scarcely  time  to  get  back  to  her  place  on  the 
tapestry. 

He  was  followed  by  a  tapestry-hanger  with 
pincers  and  a  ladder. 

He  looked  at  me  with  a  shrewd  and  severe 
expression  which  convinced  me  that  he  knew 
all. 

"  This  Marchioness  de  T is  certainly 

crazy.  What  the  devil  could  have  put  it 
into  her  head  to  fall  in  love  with  a  brat 
like  that?"  muttered  my  uncle  between 
his  teeth.  **  She  promised  to  behave  her- 
self. 


OMPHALE  :   A  ROCOCO   STORY  267 

**  Jean,  take  that  tapestry  down,  roll  it 
up,  and  put  it  in  the  garret." 

Every  word  my  uncle  spoke  went  through 
my  heart  like  a  poniard-thrust. 

Jean  rolled  up  my  sweetheart  Omphale, 
otherwise  the  Marchioness  Antoinette  de 
T ,  together  with  Hercules,  or  the  Mar- 
quis de  T ,  and  carried  the  whole  thing 

off  to  the  garret.  I  could  not  restrain  my 
tears. 

Next  day  my  uncle  sent  me  back  in  the 

B diligence  to  my  respectable  parents, 

to  whom,  you  may  feel  assured,  I  never 
breathed  a  word  of  my  adventure. 

My  uncle  died  ;  his  house  and  furniture 
were  sold  ;  probably  the  tapestry  was  sold 
with  the  rest. 

But  a  long  time  afterward,  while  foraging 
the  shop  of  a  bric-à-brac  merchant  in  search 
of  oddities,  I  stumbled  over  a  great  dusty 
roll  of  something  covered  with  cobwebs. 

"What  is  that?"  I  said  to  the  Auver- 
gnat. 

"  That  is  a  rococo  tapestry  representing 
the  amours  of  Madame  Omphale  and  Mon- 
sieur   Hercule.      It    is    genuine    Beauvais, 


268  OMPHALE  :  A  ROCOCO  STORY 

worked  in  silk,  and  in  an  excellent  state  of 
preservation.  Buy  this  from  me  for  your 
study.  I  will  not  charge  you  dear  for  it, 
since  it  is  you." 

At  the  name  of  Omphale  all  my  blood 
rushed  to  my  heart. 

"  Unroll  that  tapestry,"  I  said  to  the  mer- 
chant in  a  hurried,  gasping  voice,  like  one 
in  a  fever. 

It  was  indeed  she!  I  fancied  that  her 
mouth  smiled  graciously  at  me,  and  that  her 
eye  lighted  up  on  meeting  mine. 

**  How  much  do  you  ask  ?  " 

**  Well,  I  could  not  possibly  let  you  have 
it  for  any  less  than  five  hundred  francs." 

**  I  have  not  that  much  with  me  now.  I 
will  get  it  and  be  back  in  an  hour." 

I  returned  with  the  money,  but  the  tapes- 
try was  no  longer  there.  An  Englishman 
had  bargained  for  it  during  my  absence, 
offered  six  hundred  francs  for  it,  and  taken 
it  away  with  him. 

After  all,  perhaps  it  was  best  that  it 
should  have  been  thus,  and  that  I  should 
preserve  this  delicious  souvenir  intact. 
They  say  one  should  never  return  to  a  first 


OMPHALE  :   A  ROCOCO  STORY  269 

love,  or  look  at  the  rose  which  one  admired 
the  evening  before. 

And  then  I  am  no  longer  so  young  or  so 
pretty  that  tapestries  should  come  down 
from  their  walls  to  honor  me. 


King  Candaules 


AULES 


CHAPTER   I 

Five  hundred  years  before  the  Trojan 
war,  and  seventeen  hundred  and  fifteen 
years  before  our  own  era,  there  was  a  grand 
festival  at  Sardes.  King  Candaules  was 
going  to  marry.  The  people  were  affected 
with  that  sort  of  pleasurable  interest  and 
aimless  emotion  wherewith  any  royal  event 
inspires  the  masses,  even  though  it  in  no 
wise  concerns  them,  and  transpires  in  supe- 
rior spheres  of  life  which  they  can  never 
hope  to  reach. 

As  soon  as  Phoebus-Apollo,  standing  in 
his  quadriga,  had  gilded  to  saffron  the  sum- 
mits of  fertile  Mount  Tmolus  with  his  rays, 
the  good  people  of  Sardes  were  all  astir, 
i8 


274  KING  CANDAULES 

going  and  coming,  mounting  or  descending 
the  marble  stairways  leading  from  the  city 
to  the  waters  of  the  Pactolus,  that  opulent 
river  whose  sands  Midas  filled  with  tiny 
sparks  of  gold  when  he  bathed  in  its  stream. 
One  would  have  supposed  that  each  one  of 
these  good  citizens  was  himself  about  to 
marry,  so  solemn  and  important  was  the 
demeanor  of  all. 

Men  were  gathering  in  groups  in  the 
Agora,  upon  the  steps  of  the  temples  and 
along  the  porticoes.  At  every  street  corner 
one  might  have  encountered  women  leading 
by  the  hand  little  children,  whose  uneven 
walk  ill  suited  the  maternal  anxiety  and  im- 
patience. Maidens  were  hastening  to  the 
fountains,  all  with  urns  gracefully  balanced 
upon  their  heads,  or  sustained  by  their  white 
arms  as  with  natural  handles,  so  as  to  pro- 
cure early  the  necessary  water  provision  for 
the  household,  and  thus  obtain  leisure  at 
the  hour  when  the  nuptial  procession  should 
pass.  Washerwomen  hastily  folded  the  still 
damp  tunics  and  chlamidae,  and  piled  them 
upon  mule-wagons.  Slaves  turned  the  mill 
without  any  need  of  the  overseer's  whip  to 


KING  CANDAULES  275 

tickle  their  naked  and  scar-seamed  shoulders. 
Sardes  was  hurrying  itself  to  finish  with 
those  necessary  every-day  cares  which  no 
festival  can  wholly  disregard. 

The  road  along  which  the  procession  was 
to  pass  had  been  strewn  with  fine  yellow 
sand.  Brazen  tripods,  disposed  along  the 
way  at  regular  intervals,  sent  up  to  heaven 
the  odorous  smoke  of  cinnamon  and  spike- 
nard. These  vapors,  moreover,  alone 
clouded  the  purity  of  the  azure  above.  The 
clouds  of  a  hymeneal  day  ought,  indeed,  to 
be  formed  only  by  the  burning  of  perfumes. 
Myrtle  and  rose-laurel  branches  were  strewn 
upon  the  ground,  and  from  the  walls  of  the 
palaces  were  suspended  by  little  rings  of 
bronze  rich  tapestries,  whereon  the  needles 
of  industrious  captives — intermingling  wool, 
silver,  and  gold — had  represented  various 
scenes  in  the  history  of  the  gods  and  heroes  : 
Ixion  embracing  the  cloud  ;  Diana  surprised 
in  the  bath  by  Actaeon  ;  the  shepherd  Paris 
as  judge  in  the  contest  of  beauty  held  upon 
Mount  Ida  between  Hera,  the  snowy-armed, 
Athena  of  the  sea-green  eyes,  and  Aphro- 
dite, girded  with  her  magic  cestus;  the  old 


276  KING   CANDAULES 

men  of  Troy  rising  to  honor  Helena  as  she 
passed  through  the  Skaian  gate,  a  subject 
taken  from  one  of  the  poems  of  the  blind 
man  of  Meles.  Others  exhibited  in  prefer- 
ence scenes  taken  from  the  life  of  Heracles 
the  Theban,  through  flattery  to  Candaules, 
himself  a  Heracleid,  being  descended  from 
the  hero  through  Alcaeus.  Others  contented 
themselves  by  decorating  the  entrances  of 
their  dwellings  with  garlands  and  wreaths  in 
token  of  rejoicing. 

Among  the  multitudes  marshalled  along 
the  way  from  the  royal  house  even  as  far  as 
the  gates  of  the  city,  through  which  the 
young  queen  would  pass  on  her  arrival,  con- 
versation naturally  turned  upon  the  beauty 
of  the  bride,  whereof  the  renown  had  spread 
throughout  all  Asia;  and  upon  the  character 
of  the  bridegroom,  who,  although  not  alto- 
gether an  eccentric,  seemed  nevertheless  one 
not  readily  appreciated  from  the  common 
standpoint  of  observation. 

Nyssia,  daughter  of  the  Satrap  Megabazus, 
was  gifted  with  marvellous  purity  of  feature 
and  perfection  of  form  ;  at  least  such  was  the 
rumor  spread  abroad  by  the  female  slaves 


KING  CANDAULES  277 

who  attended  her,  and  a  few  female  friends 
who  had  accompanied  her  to  the  bath  ;  for 
no  man  could  boast  of  knowing  aught  of 
Nyssia  save  the  color  of  her  veil  and  the 
elegant  folds  that  she  involuntarily  im- 
pressed upon  the  soft  materials  which  robed 
her  statuesque  body. 

The  barbarians  did  not  share  the  ideas  of 
the  Greeks  in  regard  to  modesty.  While  the 
youths  of  Achaia  made  no  scruple  of  allow- 
ing their  oil-anointed  torsos  to  shine  under 
the  sun  in  the  stadium,  and  while  the  Spar- 
tan virgins  danced  ungarmented  before  the 
altar  of  Diana,  those  of  Persepolis,  Ebac- 
tana,  and  Bactria,  attaching  more  import- 
ance to  chastity  of  the  body  than  to  chastity 
of  mind,  considered  those  liberties  allowed 
to  the  pleasure  of  the  eyes  by  Greek  man- 
ner as  impure  and  highly  reprehensible,  and 
held  no  woman  virtuous  who  permitted  men 
to  obtain  a  glimpse  of  more  than  the  tip  of 
her  foot  in  walking,  as  it  slightly  deranged 
the  discreet  folds  of  a  long  tunic. 

Despite  all  this  mystery,  or  rather,  per- 
haps, by  very  reason  of  this  mystery,  the 
fame  of  Nyssia  had  not  been  slow  to  spread 


278  KING  CANDAULES 

throughout  all  Lydia,  and  become  popular 
there  to  such  a  degree  that  it  had  reached 
even  Candaules,  although  kings  are  ordi- 
narily the  most  illy  informed  people  in  their 
kingdoms,  and  live  like  the  gods  in  a  kind 
of  cloud  which  conceals  from  them  the 
knowledge  of  terrestrial  things. 

The  Eupatridae  of  Sardes,  who  hoped  that 
the  young  king  might,  perchance,  choose  a 
wife  from  their  family,  the  hetairœ  of 
Athens,  of  Samos,  of  Miletus  and  of  Cyprus, 
the  beautiful  slaves  from  the  banks  of  the 
Indus,  the  blonde  girls  brought  at  a  vast  ex- 
pense from  the  depths  of  the  Cimmerian 
fogs,  were  heedful  never  to  utter  in  the  pres- 
ence of  Candaules,  whether  within  hearing 
or  beyond  hearing,  a  single  word  which  bore 
any  relation  to  Nyssia.  The  bravest,  in  a 
question  of  beauty,  recoil  before  the  pros- 
pect of  a  contest  in  which  they  can  antici- 
pate being  outrivalled. 

And  nevertheless  no  person  in  Sardes,  or 
even  in  Lydia,  had  beheld  this  redoubtable 
adversary,  no  person  save  one  solitary  being, 
who  from  the  time  of  that  encounter  had 
kept  his  lips  as  firmly  closed  upon  the  sub- 


KING   CANDAULES  279 

ject  as  though  Harpocrates,  the  god  of 
silence,  had  sealed  them  with  his  finger,  and 
that  was  Gyges,  chief  of  the  guards  of  Can- 
daules.  One  day  Gyges,  his  mind  filled 
with  various  projects  and  vague  ambitions, 
had  been  wandering  among  the  Bactrian 
hills,  whither  his  master  had  sent  him  upon 
an  important  and  secret  mission.  He  was 
dreaming  of  the  intoxication  of  omnipotence, 
of  treading  upon  purple  with  sandals  of  gold, 
of  placing  the  diadem  upon  the  brows  of  the 
fairest  of  women.  These  thoughts  made  his 
blood  boil  in  his  veins,  and,  as  though  to 
pursue  the  flight  of  his  dreams,  he  smote  his 
sinewy  heel  upon  the  foam-whitened  flanks 
of  his  Numidian  horse. 

The  weather,  at  first  calm,  had  changed 
and  waxed  tempestuous  like  the  warrior's 
soul;  and  Boreas,  his  locks  bristling  with 
Thracian  frosts,  his  cheeks  puffed  out,  his 
arms  folded  upon  his  breast,  smote  the  rain- 
freighted  clouds  with  the  mighty  beatings 
of  his  wings. 

A  bevy  of  young  girls  who  had  been  gath- 
ering flowers  in  the  meadow,  fearing  the 
coming  storm,  were  returning  to  the  city  in 


28o  KING   CANDAULES 

all  haste,  each  carrying  her  perfumed  har- 
vest in  the  lap  of  her  tunic.  Seeing  a 
stranger  on  horseback  approaching  in  the 
distance,  they  had  hidden  their  faces  in  their 
mantles,  after  the  custom  of  the  barbarians; 
but  at  the  very  moment  that  Gyges  was 
passing  by  the  one  whose  proud  carriage  and 
richer  habiliments  seemed  to  designate  her 
the  mistress  of  the  little  band,  an  unusually 
violent  gust  of  wind  carried  away  the  veil  of 
the  fair  unknown,  and,  whirling  it  through 
the  air  like  a  feather,  chased  it  to  such  a  dis- 
tance that  it  could  not  be  recovered.  It 
was  Nyssia,  daughter  of  Megabazus,  who 
found  herself  thus  with  face  unveiled  in  the 
presence  of  Gyges,  an  humble  captain  of 
King  Candaules'  guard.  Was  it  only  the 
breath  of  Boreas  which  had  brought  about 
this  accident,  or  had  Eros,  who  delights  to 
vex  the  hearts  of  men,  amused  himself  by 
severing  the  string  which  had  fastened  the 
protecting  tissue  ?  However  that  may  have 
been,  Gyges  was  stricken  motionless  at  the 
sight  of  that  Medusa  of  beauty,  and  not  till 
long  after  the  folds  of  Nyssia's  robe  had  dis- 
appeared beyond  the  gates  of  the  city  could 


KING  CANDAULES  281 

he  think  of  proceeding  on  his  way.  Al- 
though there  was  nothing  to  justify  such  a 
conjecture,  he  cherished  the  belief  that  he 
had  seen  the  satrap's  daughter;  and  that 
meeting,  which  affected  him  almost  like 
an  apparition,  accorded  so  fully  with  the 
thoughts  which  were  occupying  him  at  the 
moment  of  its  occurrence,  that  he  could  not 
help  perceiving  therein  something  fateful 
and  ordained  of  the  gods.  In  truth  it  was 
upon  that  brow  that  he  would  have  wished 
to  place  the  diadem.  What  other  could  be 
more  worthy  of  it  ?  But  what  probability 
was  there  that  Gyges  would  ever  have  a 
throne  to  share  ?  He  had  not  sought  to 
follow  up  this  adventure,  and  assure  himself 
whether  it  was  indeed  the  daughter  of  Mega- 
bazus  whose  mysterious  face  had  been  re- 
vealed to  him  by  Chance,  the  great  filcher. 
Nyssia  had  fled  so  swiftly  that  it  would  have 
been  impossible  for  him  then  to  overtake 
her;  and,  moreover,  he  had  been  dazzled, 
fascinated,  thunder-stricken,  as  it  were, 
rather  than  charmed  by  that  superhuman 
apparition,  by  that  monster  of  beauty! 
Nevertheless   that  image,   although   seen 


282  KING   CANDAULES 

only  in  the  glimpse  of  a  moment,  had  en- 
graved itself  upon  his  heart  in  lines  deep  as 
those  which  the  sculptors  trace  on  ivory  with 
tools  reddened  in  the  fire.  He  had  endeav- 
ored, although  vainly,  to  efface  it,  for  the 
love  which  he  felt  for  Nyssia  inspired  him 
with  a  secret  terror.  Perfection  in  such  a 
degree  is  ever  awe-inspiring,  and  women  so 
like  unto  goddesses  could  only  work  evil  to 
feeble  mortals  ;  they  are  formed  for  divine 
adulteries,  and  even  the  most  courageous 
men  never  risk  themselves  in  such  amours 
without  trembling.  Therefore  no  hope  had 
blossomed  in  the  soul  of  Gyges,  overwhelmed 
and  discouraged  in  advance  by  the  sentiment 
of  the  impossible.  Ere  opening  his  lips  to 
Nyssia  he  would  have  wished  to  despoil  the 
heaven  of  its  robe  of  stars,  to  take  from 
Phoebus  his  crown  of  rays,  forgetting  that 
women  only  give  themselves  to  those  un- 
worthy of  them,  and  that  to  win  their  love 
one  must  act  as  though  he  desired  to  earn 
their  hate. 

From  that  day  the  roses  of  joy  no  longer 
bloomed  upon  his  cheeks.  By  day  he  was 
sad  and  mournful,   and  seemed  to  wander 


KING   CANDAULES  283 

abroad  in  solitary  dreaming,  like  a  mortal 
who  has  beheld  a  divinity.  At  night  he  was 
haunted  by  dreams  in  which  he  beheld 
Nyssia  seated  by  his  side  upon  cushions  of 
purple  between  the  golden  griffins  of  the 
royal  throne. 

Therefore  Gyges,  the  only  one  who  could 
speak  of  his  own  knowledge  concerning 
Nyssia,  having  never  spoken  of  her,  the  Sar- 
dians  were  left  to  their  own  conjectures  in 
her  regard;  and  their  conjectures,  it  must 
be  confessed,  were  fantastic  and  altogether 
fabulous.  The  beauty  of  Nyssia,  thanks  to 
the  veils  which  shrouded  her,  became  a  sort 
of  myth,  a  canvas,  a  poem  to  which  each 
one  added  ornamentation  as  the  fancy  took 
him. 

"  If  report  be  not  false,"  lisped  a  young 
debauchee  from  Athens,  who  stood  with  one 
hand  upon  the  shoulder  of  an  Asiatic  boy, 
"  neither  Plangon,  nor  Archianassa,  nor 
Thais  can  be  compared  with  this  marvellous 
barbarian  ;  yet  I  can  scarce  believe  that  she 
equals  Theano  of  Colophon,  from  whom  I 
once  bought  a  single  night  at  the  price  of  as 
much  gold  as  she  could  bear  away,  after  hav- 


284  KING   CANDAULES 

ing  plunged  both  her  white  arms  up  to  the 
shoulder  in  my  cedar-wood  coffer." 

**  Beside  her,"  added  a  Eupatrid,  who  pre- 
tended to  be  better  informed  than  any  other 
person  upon  all  manner  of  subjects,  "  beside 
her  the  daughter  of  Ccelus  and  the  Sea 
would  seem  but  a  mere  Ethiopian  servant." 

"  Your  words  are  blasphemy,  and  although 
Aphrodite  be  a  kind  and  indulgent  goddess, 
beware  of  drawing  down  her  anger  upon 
you." 

**  By  Hercules! — and  that  ought  to  be  an 
oath  of  some  weight  in  a  city  ruled  by  one 
of  his  descendants — I  cannot  retract  a  word 
of  it." 

'*  You  have  seen  her,  then  ?" 

'*  No;  but  I  have  a  slave  in  my  service 
who  once  belonged  to  Nyssia,  and  who  has 
told  me  a  hundred  stories  about  her." 

**  Is  it  true,"  demanded  in  infantile  tones 
an  equivocal-looking  woman  whose  pale-rose 
tunic,  painted  cheeks,  and  locks  shining 
with  essences  betrayed  wretched  pretensions 
to  a  youth  long  passed  away — "  is  it  true 
that  Nyssia  has  two  pupils  in  each  eye  ?  It 
seems  to  me  that  must  be  very  ugly,  and  I 


KING  CANDAULES  285 

cannot  understand  how  Candaules  could  fall 
in  love  with  such  a  monstrosity,  while  there 
is  no  lack,  at  Sardes  and  in  Lydia,  of  women 
whose  eyes  are  irreproachable." 

And  uttering  these  words  with  all  sorts  of 
afïected  airs  and  simperings,  Lamia  took  a 
little  significant  peep  in  a  small  mirror  of 
cast  metal  which  she  drew  from  her  bosom, 
and  which  enabled  her  to  lead  back  to  duty 
certain  wandering  curls  disarranged  by  the 
impertinence  of  the  wind. 

"  As  to  the  double  pupil,  that  seems  to 
me  nothing  more  than  an  old  nurse's  tale," 
observed  the  well-informed  patrician;  **  but 
it  is  a  fact  that  Nyssia's  eyes  are  so  piercing 
that  she  can  see  through  walls.  Lynxes  are 
myopic  compared  with  her." 

'*  How  can  a  sensible  man  coolly  argue 
about  such  an  absurdity?"  interrupted  a 
citizen,  whose  bald  skull,  and  the  flood  of 
snowy  beard  into  which  he  plunged  his 
fingers  while  speaking,  lent  him  an  air  of 
preponderance  and  philosophical  sagacity. 
*'  The  truth  is  that  the  daughter  of  Mega- 
bazus  cannot  naturally  see  through  a  wall 
any  better  than  you  or  I,  but  the  Egyptian 


286  KING  CANDAULES 

priest  Thoutmosis,  who  knows  so  many- 
wondrous  secrets,  has  given  her  the  mysteri- 
ous stone  which  is  found  in  the  heads  of 
dragons,  and  whose  property,  as  every  one 
knows,  renders  all  shadows  and  the  most 
opaque  bodies  transparent  to  the  eyes  of 
those  who  possess  it.  Nyssia  always  carries 
this  stone  in  her  girdle,  or  else  set  into  her 
bracelet,  and  in  that  may  be  found  the  secret 
of  her  clairvoyance." 

The  citizen's  explanation  seemed  the  most 
natural  one  to  those  of  the  group  whose  con- 
versation we  are  endeavoring  to  reproduce, 
and  the  opinions  of  Lamia  and  the  patrician 
were  abandoned  as  improbable. 

"At  all  events,"  returned  the  lover  of 
Theano,  "  we  are  going  to  have  an  oppor- 
tunity of  judging  for  ourselves,  for  it  seems 
to  me  that  I  hear  the  clarions  sounding  in 
the  distance,  and  though  Nyssia  is  still  in- 
visible, I  can  see  the  herald  yonder  approach- 
ing with  palm-branches  in  his  hands,  to  an- 
nounce the  arrival  of  the  nuptial  cortege,  and 
make  the  crowd  fall  back." 

At  this  news,  which  spread  rapidly  through 
the  crowd,   the  strong   men  elbowed  their 


KING   CANDAULES  287 

way  toward  the  front  ranks  ;  the  agile  boys, 
embracing  the  shafts  of  the  columns,  sought 
to  climb  up  to  the  capitals  and  there  seat 
themselves;  others,  not  without  having 
skinned  their  knees  against  the  bark,  suc- 
ceeded in  perching  themselves  comfortably 
enough  in  the  Y  of  some  tree-branch.  The 
women  lifted  their  little  children  upon  their 
shoulders,  warning  them  to  hold  tightly  to 
their  necks.  Those  who  had  the  good  for- 
tune to  dwell  on  the  street  along  which  Can- 
daules  and  Nyssia  were  about  to  pass,  leaned 
over  from  the  summit  of  their  roofs,  or,  ris- 
ing on  their  elbows,  abandoned  for  a  time 
the  cushions  upon  which  they  had  been  re- 
clining. 

A  murmur  of  satisfaction  and  gratified  ex- 
pectation ran  through  the  crowd,  which  had 
already  been  waiting  many  long  hours,  for 
the  arrows  of  the  midday  sun  were  com- 
mencing to  sting. 

The  heavy-armed  warriors,  with  cuirasses 
of  buU's-hide  covered  with  overlapping  plates 
of  metal,  helmets  adorned  with  plumes  of 
horse-hair  dyed  red,  knernides  or  greaves 
faced  with  tin,  baldrics  studded  with  nails, 


288  KING   CANDAULES 

emblazoned  bucklers,  and  swords  of  brass, 
rode  behind  a  line  of  trumpeters  who  blew 
with  might  and  main  upon  their  long  tubes, 
which  gleamed  under  the  sunlight.  The 
horses  of  these  warriors  were  all  white  as  the 
feet  of  Thetis,  and  might  have  served,  by 
reason  of  their  noble  paces  and  purity  of 
breeds,  as  models  for  those  which  Phidias  at 
a  later  day  sculptured  upon  the  metopes  of 
the  Parthenon. 

At  the  head  of  this  troop  rode  Gyges,  the 
well-named,  for  his  name  in  the  Lydian 
tongue  signifies  beautiful.  His  features,  of 
the  most  exquisite  regularity,  seemed  chis- 
elled in  marble,  owing  to  his  intense  pallor, 
for  he  had  just  discovered  in  Nyssia,  although 
she  was  veiled  with  the  veil  of  a  young 
bride,  the  same  woman  whose  face  had 
been  betrayed  to  his  gaze  by  the  treachery 
of  Boreas  under  the  walls  of  Bactria. 

"  Handsome  Gyges  looks  very  sad,"  said 
the  young  maidens.  "  What  proud  beauty 
could  have  secured  his  love,  or  what  forsaken 
one  has  caused  some  Thessalian  witch  to 
cast  a  spell  on  him  ?  Has  that  cabalistic 
ring  (which  he  is  said  to  have  found  hidden 


KING  CANDAULES  289 

within  the  flanks  of  a  brazen  horse  in  the 
midst  of  some  forest)  lost  its  virtue,  and  sud- 
denly ceasing  to  render  its  owner  invisible, 
have  betrayed  him  to  the  astonished  eyes  of 
some  innocent  husband,  who  had  deemed 
himself  alone  in  his  conjugal  chamber  ?  " 

Perhaps  he  has  been  wasting  his  talents 
and  his  drachmas  at  the  game  of  Palamedes, 
or  else  it  may  be  that  he  is  disappointed  at  not 
having  won  the  prize  at  the  Olympian  games. 
He  had  great  faith  in  his  horse  Hyperion." 

No  one  of  these  conjectures  was  true.  A 
fact  is  never  guessed. 

After  the  battalion  commanded  byGyges, 
there  came  young  boys  crowned  with  myrtle- 
wreaths,  and  singing  epithalamic  hymns 
after  the  Lydian  manner,  accompanying 
themselves  upon  lyres  of  ivory,  which  they 
played  with  bows.  All  were  clad  in  rose- 
colored  tunics  ornamented  with  a  silver 
Greek  border,  and  their  long  hair  flowed 
down  over  their  shoulders  in  thick  curls. 

They    preceded    the    gift-bearers,    strong 
slaves  whose   half-nude   bodies   exposed   to 
view  such  interlacements  of  .muscle  as  the 
stoutest  athletes  might  have  envied. 
19 


290  KING  CANDAULES 

Upon  brancards,  supported  by  two  or  four 
men  or  more,  according  to  the  weight  of  the 
objects  borne,  were  placed  enormous  brazen 
cratera,  chiselled  by  the  most  famous  artists: 
vases  of  gold  and  silver  whose  sides  were 
adorned  with  bas-reliefs  and  whose  hands 
were  elegantly  worked  into  chimeras,  foli- 
age, and  nude  women  ;  magnificent  ewers  to 
be  used  in  washing  the  feet  of  illustrious 
guests;  flagons  incrusted  with  precious 
stones  and  containing  the  rarest  perfumes; 
myrrh  from  Arabia,  cinnamon  from  the  In- 
dies, spikenard  from  Persia,  essence  of  roses 
from  Smyrna;  kamklins  or  perfuming  pans, 
with  perforated  covers  ;  cedar-wood  or  ivory 
coffers  of  marvellous  workmanship,  which 
opened  with  a  secret  spring  that  none  save 
the  inventor  could  find,  and  which  contained 
bracelets  wrought  from  the  gold  of  Ophir, 
necklaces  of  the  most  lustrous  pearls,  mantle- 
brooches  constellated  with  rubies  and  carbun- 
cles; toilet  boxes  containing  blonde  sponges, 
curling-irons,  sea-wolves*  teeth  to  polish  the 
nails,  the  green  rouge  of  Egypt,  which  turns 
to  a  most  beautiful  pink  on  touching  the 
skin,  powders  to  darken  the  eyelashes  and 


KING  CANDAULES  29 1 

eyebrows,  and  all  the  refinements  that  fem- 
inine coquetry  could  invent.  Other  litters 
were  freighted  with  purple  robes  of  the  finest 
linen  and  of  all  possible  shades  from  the  in- 
carnadine hue  of  the  rose  to  the  deep  crim- 
son of  the  blood  of  the  grape  ;  calasires  of 
the  linen  of  Canopus,  which  is  thrown  all 
white  into  the  vat  of  the  dyer,  and  comes 
forth  again,  owing  to  the  various  astringents 
in  which  it  had  been  steeped,  diapered  with 
the  most  brilliant  colors;  tunics  brought 
from  the  fabulous  land  of  Seres,  made  from 
the  spun  slime  of  a  worm  which  feeds  upon 
leaves,  and  so  fine  that  they  might  be  drawn 
through  a  finger-ring. 

Ethiopians,  whose  bodies  shone  like  jet, 
and  whose  temples  were  tightly  bound  with 
cords,  lest  they  should  burst  the  veins  of 
their  foreheads  in  the  effort  to  uphold  their 
burden,  carried  in  great  pomp  a  statue  of 
Hercules,  the  ancestor  of  Candaules,  of  colos- 
sal size,  wrought  of  ivory  and  gold,  with  the 
club,  the  skin  of  the  Nemean  lion,  the  three 
apples  from  the  garden  of  the  Hesperides, 
and  all  the  traditional  attributes  of  the  hero. 

Statues  of  Venus  Urania,  and  of  Venus 


292  KING  CANDAULES 

Genitrix,  sculptured  by  the  best  pupils  of 
the  Sicyon  School  in  that  marble  of  Paros 
whose  gleaming  transparency  seemed  ex- 
pressly created  for  the  representation  of  the 
ever-youthful  flesh  of  the  immortals,  were 
borne  after  the  statue  of  Hercules,  which 
admirably  relieved  the  harmony  and  elegance 
of  their  proportions  by  contrast  with  its  mas- 
sive outlines  and  rugged  forms. 

A  painting  by  Bularchus,  which  Candaules 
had  purchased  for  its  weight  in  gold,  exe- 
cuted upon  the  wood  of  the  femiale  larch- 
tree,  and  representing  the  defeat  of  the  Mag- 
nesians,  evoked  universal  admiration  by  the 
beauty  of  its  design,  the  truthfulness  of  the 
attitude  of  its  figures,  and  the  harmony  of 
its  coloring,  although  the  artist  had  only  em- 
ployed in  its  production  the  four  primitive 
colors:  Attic  ochre,  white,  Pontic  sinopis, 
and  atramenturn.  The  young  king  loved 
painting  and  sculpture  even  more,  perhaps, 
than  well  became  a  monarch,  and  he  had  not 
unfrequently  bought  a  picture  at  a  price 
equal  to  the  annual  revenue  of  a  whole  city. 

Camels  and  dromedaries,  splendidly  capar- 
isoned, with  musicians  seated  on  their  necks 


KING  CANDAULES  293 

performing  upon  drums  and  cymbals,  car- 
ried the  gilded  stakes,  the  cords,  and  the  ma- 
terial of  the  tent  designed  for  the  use  of  the 
queen  during  voyages  and  hunting  parties. 

These  spectacles  of  magnificence  would 
upon  any  other  occasion  have  ravished  the 
people  of  Sardes  with  delight,  but  their  curi- 
osity had  been  enlisted  in  another  direction, 
and  it  was  not  without  a  certain  feeling  of 
impatience  that  they  watched  this  portion 
of  the  procession  file  by.  The  young  maid- 
ens and  the  handsome  boys,  bearing  flam- 
ing torches,  and  strewing  handfuls  of  crocus 
flowers  along  the  way,  hardly  attracted  any 
attention.  The  idea  of  beholding  Nyssia 
had  preoccupied  all  minds. 

At  last  Candaules  appeared,  riding  in  a 
chariot  drawn  by  four  horses,  as  beautiful 
and  spirited  as  those  of  the  sun,  all  rolling 
their  golden  bits  in  foam,  shaking  their  pur- 
ple-decked manes,  and  restrained  with  great 
difficulty  by  the  driver,  who  stood  erect  at 
the  side  of  Candaules,  and  was  leaning  back 
to  gain  more  power  on  the  reins. 

Candaules  was  a  young  man  full  of  vigor, 
and   well   worthy   of   his   Herculean   origin. 


294  KING  CANDAULES 

His  head  was  joined  to  his  shoulders  by  a 
neck  massive  as  a  bull's,  and  almost  without 
a  curve  ;  his  hair,  black  and  lustrous,  twisted 
itself  into  rebellious  little  curls,  here  and 
there  concealing  the  circlet  of  his  diadem  ; 
his  ears,  small  and  upright,  were  of  a  ruddy 
hue  ;  his  forehead  was  broad  and  full,  though 
a  little  low,  like  all  antique  foreheads;  his 
eyes  full  of  gentle  melancholy,  his  oval 
cheeks,  his  chin  wnth  its  gentle  and  regular 
curves,  his  mouth  with  its  slightly  parted 
lips — all  bespoke  the  nature  of  the  poet 
rather  than  that  of  the  warrior.  In  fact, 
although  he  was  brave,  skilled  in  all  bodily 
exercises,  could  subdue  a  wild  horse  as  well 
as  any  of  the  Lapithae,  or  swim  across  the 
current  of  rivers  when  they  descended, 
swollen  with  melted  snow,  from  the  moun- 
tains, although  he  might  have  bent  the  bow 
of  Odysseus  or  borne  the  shield  of  Achilles, 
he  seemed  little  occupied  with  dreams  of 
conquest  ;  and  war,  usually  so  fascinating  to 
young  kings,  had  little  attraction  for  him. 
He  contented  himself  with  repelling  the  at- 
tacks of  his  ambitious  neighbors,  and  sought 
not  to  extend  his  own  dominions.      He  pre- 


KING  CANDAULES  295 

ferred  building  palaces,  after  plans  suggested 
by  himself  to  the  architects,  who  always 
found  the  king's  hints  of  no  small  value,  or 
to  form  collections  of  statues  and  paintings 
by  artists  of  the  elder  and  later  schools.  He 
had  the  works  of  Telephanes  of  Sicyon, 
Cleanthes,  Ardices  of  Corinth,  Hygiemon, 
Deinias,  Charmides,  Eumarus,  and  Cimon, 
some  being  simple  drawings,  and  other  paint- 
ings in  various  colors  or  monochromes.  It 
was  even  said  that  Candaules  had  not  dis- 
dained to  wield  with  his  own  royal  hands — 
a  thing  hardly  becoming  a  prince — the  chisel 
of  the  sculptor  and  the  sponge  of  the  en- 
caustic painter. 

But  why  should  we  dwell  upon  Candaules  ? 
The  reader  undoubtedly  feels  like  the  peo- 
ple of  Sardes:  and  it  is  of  Nyssia  that  he 
desires  to  hear. 

The  daughter  of  Megabazus  was  mounted 
upon  an  elephant,  with  wrinkled  skin  and 
immense  ears  which  seemed  like  flags,  who 
advanced  with  a  heavy  but  rapid  gait,  like  a 
vessel  in  the  midst  of  the  waves.  His  tusks 
and  his  trunk  were  encircled  v/ith  silver  rings, 
and  around  the  pillars  of  his  limbs  were  en- 


296  KING   CANDAULES 

twined  necklaces  of  enormous  pearls.  Upon 
his  back,  which  was  covered  with  a  magnifi- 
cent Persian  carpet  of  striped  pattern,  stood 
a  sort  of  estrade  overlaid  with  gold  finely 
chased,  and  constellated  with  onyx  stones, 
carnelians,  chrysolites,  lapis-lazuli,  and  gira- 
sols  ;  upon  this  estrade  sat  the  young  queen, 
so  covered  with  precious  stones  as  to  dazzle 
the  eyes  of  the  beholders.  A  mitre,  shaped 
like  a  helmet,  on  which  pearls  formed  flower 
designs  and  letters  after  the  Oriental  man- 
ner, was  placed  upon  her  head;  her  ears, 
both  the  lobes  and  rims  of  which  had  been 
pierced,  were  adorned  with  ornaments  in  the 
form  of  little  cups,  crescents,  and  balls; 
necklaces  of  gold  and  silver  beads,  which  had 
been  hollowed  out  and  carved,  thrice  encir- 
cled her  neck  and  descended  with  a  metallic 
tinkling  upon  her  bosom  ;  emerald  serpents 
with  topaz  or  ruby  eyes  coiled  themselves 
in  many  folds  about  her  arms,  and  clasped 
themselves  by  biting  their  own  tails.  These 
bracelets  were  connected  by  chains  of  pre- 
cious stones,  and  so  great  was  their  weight 
that  two  attendants  were  required  to  kneel 
beside  Nyssia  and  support  her  elbows.     She 


KING   CANDAULES  297 

was  clad  in  a  robe  embroidered  by  Syrian 
workmen  with  shining  designs  of  golden  foli- 
age and  diamond  fruits,  and  over  this  she 
wore  the  short  tunic  of  Persepolis,  which 
hardly  descended  to  the  knee,  and  of  which 
the  sleeves  were  slit  and  fastened  by  sap- 
phire clasps.  Her  waist  was  encircled  from 
hip  to  loins  by  a  girdle  wrought  of  narrow 
material,  variegated  with  stripes  and  flow- 
ered designs,  which  formed  themselves  into 
symmetrical  patterns  as  they  were  brought 
together  by  a  certain  arrangement  of  the 
folds  which  Indian  girls  alone  know  how  to 
make.  Her  trousers  of  byssus,  which  the 
Phoenicians  called  syftdon,  were  confined  at 
the  ankles  by  anklets  adorned  with  gold  and 
silver  bells,  and  completed  this  toilet,  so  fan- 
tastically rich  and  wholly  opposed  to  Greek 
taste.  But,  alas!  a  saffron-colored  fiam- 
meum  pitilessly  masked  the  face  of  Nyssia, 
who  seemed  embarrassed,  veiled  though  she 
was,  at  finding  so  many  eyes  fixed  upon  her, 
and  frequently  signed  to  a  slave  behind  her 
to  lower  the  parasol  of  ostrich  plumes,  and 
thus  conceal  her  yet  more  from  the  curious 
gaze  of  the  crowd. 


298  KING   CANDAULES 

Candaules  had  vainly  begged  of  her  to  lay 
aside  her  veil,  even  for  that  solemn  occasion. 
The  young  barbarian  had  refused  to  pay  the 
v/elcome  of  her  beauty  to  his  people.  Great 
was  the  disappointment.  Lamia  declared 
that  Nyssia  dared  not  uncover  her  face  for 
fear  of  showing  her  double  pupil.  The 
young  libertine  remained  convinced  that 
Theano  of  Colophon  was  more  beautiful  than 
the  queen  of  Sardes;  and  Gyges  sighed  when 
he  beheld  Nyssia,  after  having  made  her  ele- 
phant kneel  down,  descend  upon  the  inclined 
heads  of  Damascus  slaves  as  upon  a  living 
ladder,  to  the  threshold  of  the  royal  dwell- 
ing, where  the  elegance  of  Greek  architec- 
ture was  blended  with  the  fantasies  and 
enormities  of  Asiatic  taste. 


CHAPTER    II 

In  our  character  of  poet  we  have  the  right 
to  lift  the  saffron-colored  flammeum  which 
concealed  the  young  bride,  being  more  for- 
tunate in  this  wise  than  the  Sardians,  who 
after  a  whole  day's  waiting  were  obliged  to 


KING  CANDAULES  299 

return  to  their  houses  and  were  left,  as  be- 
fore, to  their  own  conjectures. 

Nyssia  was  really  far  superior  to  her  repu- 
tation, great  as  it  was.  It  seemed  as  though 
Nature  in  creating  her  had  resolved  to  ex- 
haust her  utmost  powers,  and  thus  make 
atonement  for  all  former  experimental  at- 
tempts and  fruitless  essays.  One  would 
have  said  that,  moved  by  jealousy  of  the 
future  marvels  of  the  Greek  sculptors,  she 
also  had  resolved  to  model  a  statue  herself, 
and  to  prove  that  she  was  still  sovereign 
mistress  in  the  plastic  art. 

The  grain  of  snow,  the  micaceous  bril- 
liancy of  Parian  marble,  the  sparkling  pulp 
of  balsamine  flowers,  would  render  but  a 
feeble  idea  of  the  ideal  substance  whereof 
Nyssia  had  been  formed.  That  flesh,  so 
fine,  so  delicate,  permitted  daylight  to  pene- 
trate it,  and  modelled  itself  in  transparent 
contours,  in  lines  as  sweetly  harmonious  as 
music  itself.  According  to  different  sur- 
roundings, it  took  the  color  of  the  sunlight 
or  of  purple,  like  the  aromal  body  of  a  divin- 
ity, and  seemed  to  radiate  light  and  life. 
The  world  of  perfections  inclosed  within  the 


300  KING   CANDAULES 

nobly-lengthened  oval  of  her  chaste  face 
could  have  been  rendered  by  no  earthly  art 
— neither  by  the  chisel  of  the  sculptor,  nor 
the  brush  of  the  painter,  nor  the  style  of  any 
poet — though  it  were  Praxiteles,  Apelles,  or 
Mimnernus  ;  and  on  her  smooth  brow,  bathed 
by  waves  of  hair  amber-bright  as  molten 
electrum  and  sprinkled  with  gold  filings, 
according  to  the  Babylonian  custom,  sat  as 
upon  a  jasper  throne  the  unalterable  serenity 
of  perfect  loveliness. 

As  for  her  eyes,  though  they  did  not  Jus- 
tify what  popular  credulity  said  of  them, 
they  were  at  least  wonderfully  strange  eyes  ; 
brown  eyebrows,  with  extremities  ending  in 
points  elegant  as  those  of  the  arrows  of  Eros, 
and  which  were  joined  to  each  other  by  a 
streak  of  henna  after  the  Asiatic  fashion, 
and  long  fringes  of  silkily-shadowed  eye- 
lashes contrasted  strikingly  with  the  twin 
sapphire  stars  rolling  in  the  heaven  of  dark 
silver  which  formed  those  eyes.  The  irises 
of  those  eyes,  whose  pupils  were  blacker 
than  atrament,  varied  singularly  in  shades  of 
shifting  color.  From  sapphire  they  changed 
to  turquoise,  from  turquoise  to  beryl,  from 


KING   CANDAULES  30I 

beryl  to  yellow  amber,  and  sometimes,  like 
a  limpid  lake  whose  bottom  is  strewn  with 
jewels,  they  offered,  through  their  incalcula- 
ble depths,  glimpses  of  golden  and  diamond 
sands  upon  which  green  fibrils  vibrated  and 
twisted  themselves  into  emerald  serpents. 
In  those  orbs  of  phosphoric  lightning  the 
rays  of  suns  extinguished,  the  splendors  of 
vanished  worlds,  the  glories  of  Olympus 
eclipsed — all  seemed  to  have  concentrated 
their  reflections.  When  contemplating  them 
one  thought  of  eternity,  and  felt  himself 
seized  with  a  mighty  giddiness,  as  though 
he  were  leaning  over  the  verge  of  the  In- 
finite. 

The  expression  of  those  extraordinary 
eyes  was  not  less  variable  than  their  tint. 
At  times  their  lids  opened  like  the  portals  of 
celestial  dwellings;  they  invited  you  into 
elysiums  of  light,  of  azure,  of  ineffable  felic- 
ity; they  promised  you  the  realization, 
tenfold,  a  hundredfold,  of  all  your  dreams 
of  happiness,  as  though  they  had  divined 
your  soul's  most  secret  thoughts;  again,  im- 
penetrable as  sevenfold  plated  shields  of  the 
hardest  metals,  they  flung  back  your  gaze 


302  KING   CANDAULES 

like  blunted  and  broken  arrows.  With  a 
simple  inflexion  of  the  brow,  a  mere  flash  of 
the  pupil,  more  terrible  than  the  thunder  of 
Zeus,  they  precipitated  you  from  the  heights 
of  your  most  ambitious  escalades  into  depths 
of  nothingness  so  profound  that  it  was  im- 
possible to  rise  again.  Typhon  himself,  who 
writhes  under  ^tna,  could  not  have  lifted 
the  mountains  of  disdain  with  which  they 
overwhelmed  you.  One  felt  that  though  he 
should  live  for  a  thousand  Olympiads  en- 
dowed with  the  beauty  of  the  fair  son  of 
Latona,  the  genius  of  Orpheus,  the  un- 
bounded might  of  Assyrian  kings,  the  treas- 
ures of  the  Cabeirei,  the  Telchines,  and  the 
Dactyli,  gods  of  subterranean  wealth,  he 
could  never  change  their  expression  to  mild- 
ness. 

At  other  times  their  languishment  was 
so  liquidly  persuasive,  their  brilliancy  and 
irradiation  so  penetrating,  that  the  icy  cold- 
ness of  Nestor  and  Priam  would  have  melted 
under  their  gaze,  like  the  wax  of  the  wings 
of  Icarus  when  he  approached  the  flaming 
zones.  For  one  such  glance  a  man  would 
have  gladly  steeped  his  hands  in  the  blood 


KING   CANDAULES  303 

of  his  host,  scattered  the  ashes  of  his  father 
to  the  four  winds,  overthrown  the  holy  im- 
ages of  the  gods,  and  stolen  the  fire  of  heaven 
itself,  like  the  sublime  thief,  Prometheus. 

Nevertheless,  their  most  ordinary  expres- 
sion, it  must  be  confessed,  was  of  a  chastity 
to  make  one  desperate — a  sublime  coldness 
— an  ignorance  of  all  possibilities  of  human 
passion,  such  as  would  have  made  the  moon- 
bright  eyes  of  Phœbe  or  the  sea-green  eyes 
of  Athena  appear  by  comparison  more 
liquidly  tempting  than  those  of  a  young  girl 
of  Babylon  sacrificing  to  the  goddess  Mylitta 
within  the  cord-circled  enclosure  of  Succoth- 
Benohl.  Their  invincible  virginity  seemed 
to  bid  love  defiance. 

The  cheeks  of  Nyssia,  which  no  human 
gaze  had  ever  profaned,  save  that  of  Gyges 
on  the  day  when  the  veil  was  blown  away, 
possessed  a  youthful  bloom,  a  tender  pallor, 
a  delicacy  of  grain,  and  a  downiness  whereof 
the  faces  of  our  women,  perpetually  exposed 
to  sunlight  and  air,  cannot  convey  the  most 
distant  idea.  Modesty  created  fleeting  rosy 
clouds  upon  them  like  those  which  a  drop 
of  crimson  essence  would  form  in  a  cup  of 


304  KING   CANDAULES 

milk,  and  when  uncolored  by  any  emotion 
they  took  a  silvery  sheen,  a  warm  light,  like 
an  alabaster  vessel  illumined  by  a  lamp 
within.  That  lamp  was  her  charming  soul, 
which  exposed  to  view  the  transparency  of 
her  flesh. 

A  bee  would  have  been  deceived  by  her 
mouth,  whose  form  was  so  perfect,  whose 
corners  were  so  purely  dimpled,  whose  crim- 
son was  so  rich  and  warm  that  the  gods 
would  have  descended  from  their  Olympian 
dwellings  in  order  to  touch  it  with  lips 
humid  with  immortality,  but  that  the  jeal- 
ousy of  the  goddesses  restrained  their  im- 
petuosity. Happy  the  wind  which  passed 
through  that  purple  and  pearl,  which  dilated 
those  pretty  nostrils,  so  finely  cut  and  shaded 
with  rosy  tints  like  the  mother-of-pearl  of 
the  shells  thrown  by  the  sea  on  the  shore  of 
Cyprus  at  the  feet  of  Venus  Anadyomene! 
But  are  there  not  a  multitude  of  favors  thus 
granted  to  things  which  cannot  understand 
them  ?  What  lover  would  not  wish  to  be 
the  tunic  of  his  well-beloved  or  the  water  of 
her  bath  ? 

Such  was  Nyssia,  if  we  dare  make  use  of 


KING  CANDAULES  305 

the  expression  after  so  vague  a  description 
of  her  face.  If  our  foggy  Northern  idioms 
had  the  warm  liberty,  the  burning  enthusi- 
asm of  the  Sir  Hasirim,  we  might,  perhaps, 
by  comparisons — awakening  in  the  mind  of 
the  reader  memories  of  flowers  and  perfumes, 
of  music  and  sunlight,  evoking,  by  the 
magic  of  words,  all  the  graceful  and  charm- 
ing images  that  the  universe  can  contain — 
have  been  able  to  give  some  idea  of  Nyssia's 
features;  but  it  is  permitted  to  Solomon 
alone  to  compare  the  nose  of  a  beautiful 
woman  to  the  tower  of  Lebanon  which  look- 
eth  toward  Damascus.  And  yet  what  is 
there  in  the  world  of  more  importance  than 
the  nose  of  a  beautiful  woman  ?  Had  Helen, 
the  white  Tyndarid,  been  flat-nosed,  would 
the  Trojan  War  have  taken  place  ?  And  if 
the  profile  of  Semiramis  had  not  been  per- 
fectly regular,  would  she  have  bewitched  the 
old  monarch  of  Nineveh  and  encircled  her 
brow  with  the  mitre  of  pearls,  the  symbol  of 
supreme  power  ? 

Although  Candaules  had  brought  to  his 
palace  the  most  beautiful  slaves  from  the 
people   of   the   Sorae,   of  Askalon,   of  Sog- 


3o6  KING  CANDAULES 

diana,  of  the  Sacae,  of  Rhapta,  the  most 
celebrated  courtesans  from  Ephesus,  from 
Pergamus,  from  Smyrna,  and  from  Cyprus, 
he  was  completely  fascinated  by  the  charms 
of  Nyssia.  Up  to  that  time  he  had  not  even 
suspected  the  existence  of  such  perfection. 

Privileged  as  a  husband  to  enjoy  fully  the 
contemplation  of  this  beauty,  he  found  him- 
self dazzled,  giddy,  like  one  who  leans  over 
the  edge  of  an  abyss,  or  fixes  his  eyes  upon 
the  sun;  he  felt  himself  seized,  as  it  were, 
with  the  delirium  of  possession,  like  a  priest 
drunk  with  the  god  who  fills  and  moves  him. 
All  other  thoughts  disappeared  from  his 
soul,  and  the  universe  seemed  to  him  only 
as  a  vague  mist  in  the  midst  of  which  beamed 
the  shining  phantom  of  Nyssia.  His  happi- 
ness transformed  itself  into  ecstasy,  and  his 
love  into  madness.  At  times  his  very  felic- 
ity terrified  him.  To  be  only  a  wretched 
king,  only  a  remote  descendant  of  a  hero 
who  had  become  a  god  by  mighty  labors, 
only  a  common  man  formed  of  flesh  and 
bone,  and  without  having  in  aught  rendered 
himself  worthy  of  it — without  having  even, 
like  his  ancestor,  strangled  some  hydra,  or 


KING  CANDAULES  307 

torn  some  lion  asunder — to  enjoy  a  happi- 
ness whereof  Zeus  of  the  ambrosial  hair 
would  scarce  be  worthy,  though  lord  of  all 
Olympus  !  He  felt,  as  it  were,  a  shame  to 
thus  hoard  up  for  himself  alone  so  rich  a 
treasure,  to  steal  this  marvel  from  the  world, 
to  be  the  dragon  with  scales  and  claws  who 
guarded  the  living  type  of  the  ideal  of  lovers, 
sculptors,  and  poets.  All  they  had  ever 
dreamed  of  in  their  hope,  their  melancholy, 
and  their  despair,  he  possessed — he,  Can- 
daules,  poor  tyrant  of  Sardes,  who  had  only 
a  few  wretched  coffers  filled  with  pearls,  a 
few  cisterns  filled  with  gold  pieces,  and 
thirty  or  forty  thousand  slaves,  purchased 
or  taken  in  war. 

Candaules's  felicity  was  too  great  for  him, 
and  the  strength  which  he  would  doubtless 
have  found  at  his  command  in  time  of  mis- 
fortune was  wanting  to  him  in  time  of  hap- 
piness. His  joy  overflowed  from  his  soul 
like  water  from  a  vase  placed  upon  the  fire, 
and  in  the  exasperation  of  his  enthusiasm 
for  Nyssia  he  had  reached  the  point  of  de- 
siring that  she  were  less  timid  and  less  mod- 
est, for  it  cost  him  no  little  effort  to  retain 


3o8  KING   CANDAULES 

in  his  own  breast  the  secret  of  such  won- 
drous beauty. 

"  Ah,"  he  would  murmur  to  himself  dur- 
ing the  deep  reveries  which  absorbed  him 
at  all  hours  that  he  did  not  spend  at  the 
queen's  side,  "how  strange  a  lot  is  mine! 
I  am  wretched  because  of  that  which  would 
make  any  other  husband  happy.  Nyssia 
will  not  leave  the  shadow  of  the  gynaeceum, 
and  refuses,  with  barbarian  modesty,  to  lift 
her  veil  in  the  presence  of  any  other  than 
myself.  Yet  with  what  an  intoxication  of 
pride  would  my  love  behold  her,  radiantly 
sublime,  gaze  down  upon  my  kneeling  peo- 
ple from  the  summit  of  the  royal  steps,  and, 
like  the  rising  dawn,  extinguish  all  those 
pale  stars  who  during  the  night  thought 
themselves  suns!  Proud  Lydian  women, 
who  believe  yourselves  beautiful,  but  for 
Nyssia's  reserve  you  would  appear,  even  to 
your  lovers,  as  ugly  as  the  oblique-eyed  and 
thick-lipped  slaves  of  Nahasi  and  Kush. 
Were  she  but  once  to  pass  along  the  streets 
of  Sardes  with  face  unveiled,  you  might  in 
vain  pull  your  adorers  by  the  lappet  of  their 
tunic,  for  none  of  them  would  turn  his  head, 


KING  CANDAULES  309 

or,  if  he  did,  it  would  be  to  demand  your 
name,  so  utterly  would  he  have  forgotten 
you  !  They  would  rush  to  precipitate  them- 
selves beneath  the  silver  wheels  of  her  char- 
iot, that  they  might  have  even  the  pleasure 
of  being  crushed  by  her,  like  those  devotees 
of  the  Indus  who  pave  the  pathway  of  their 
idol  with  their  bodies. 

**  And  you,  oh  goddesses,  whom  Paris- 
Alexander  judged,  had  Nyssia  appeared 
among  you,  not  one  of  you  would  have 
borne  away  the  golden  apple,  not  even 
Aphrodite,  despite  her  cestus  and  her  prom- 
ise to  the  shepherd-arbiter  that  she  would 
make  him  beloved  by  the  most  beautiful 
woman  in  the  world  !  .   .   . 

**  Alas!  to  think  that  such  beauty  is  not 
immortal,  and  that  years  will  alter  those 
divine  outlines,  that  admirable  hymn  of 
forms,  that  poem  whose  strophes  are  con- 
tours, and  which  no  one  in  the  world  has 
ever  read  or  may  ever  read  save  myself;  to 
be  the  sole  depositary  of  so  splendid  a  treas- 
ure! If  I  knew  even,  by  imitating  the  play 
of  light  and  shadow  with  the  aid  of  lines  and 
colors,  how  to  fix  upon  wood  a  reflection  of 


3IO  KING  CANDAULES 

that  celestial  face  ;  if  marble  were  not  rebel- 
lious to  my  chisel,  how  well  would  I  fashion 
in  the  purest  vein  of  Paros  or  Pentelicus  an 
image  of  that  charming  body,  which  would 
make  the  proud  effigies  of  the  goddesses  fall 
from  their  altars!  And  long  after,  when 
deep  below  the  slime  of  deluges,  and  beneath 
the  dust  of  ruined  cities,  the  men  of  future 
ages  should  find  a  fragment  of  that  petri- 
fied shadow  of  Nyssia,  they  would  cry  :  *  Be- 
hold, how  the  women  of  this  vanished  world 
were  formed  !  *  And  they  would  erect  a  tem- 
ple wherein  to  enshrine  the  divine  fragment. 
But  I  have  naught  save  a  senseless  admira- 
tion and  a  love  that  is  madness  !  Sole  adorer 
of  an  unknown  divinity,  1  possess  no  power 
to  spread  her  worship  through  the  world." 

Thus  in  Candaules  had  the  enthusiasm  of 
the  artist  extinguished  the  jealousy  of  the 
lover.  Admiration  was  mightier  than  love. 
If  in  place  of  Nyssia,  daughter  of  the  Satrap 
Megabazus,  all  imbued  with  Oriental  ideas, 
he  had  espoused  some  Greek  girl  from 
Athens  or  Corinth,  he  would  certainly  have 
invited  to  his  court  the  most  skilful  painters 
and   sculptors,    and    have   given    them    the 


KING   CANDAULES  3II 

queen  for  their  model,  as  did  afterward 
Alexander  his  favorite  Campaspe,  who  posed 
naked  before  Apelles.  Such  a  whim  would 
have  encountered  no  opposition  from  a 
woman  of  the  land  where  even  the  most 
chaste  made  a  boast  of  having  contributed 
— some  for  the  back,  some  for  the  bosom — 
to  the  perfection  of  a  famous  statue.  Bat 
hardly  would  the  bashful  Nyssia  consent  to 
unveil  herself  in  the  discreet  shadow  of  the 
thalamus,  and  the  earnest  prayers  of  the 
king  really  shocked  her  rather  than  gave  her 
pleasure.  The  sentiment  of  duty  and  obe- 
dience alone  induced  her  to  yield  at  times  to 
what  she  styled  the  w^hims  of  Candaules. 

Sometimes  he  besought  her  to  allow  the 
flood  of  her  hair  to  flow  over  her  shoulders 
in  a  river  of  gold  richer  than  the  Pactolus, 
to  encircle  her  brow  with  a  crown  of  ivy  and 
linden  leaves  like  a  bacchante  of  Mount 
Maenalus,  to  lie,  hardly  veiled  by  a  cloud  of 
tissue  finer  than  woven  wind,  upon  a  tiger- 
skin  with  silver  claws  and  ruby  eyes,  or  to 
stand  erect  in  a  great  shell  of  mother-of- 
pearl,  with  a  dew  of  pearls  falling  from  her 
tresses  in  lieu  of  drops  of  sea-water. 


312  KING  CANDAULES 

When  he  had  placed  himself  in  the  best 
position  for  observation,  he  became  absorbed 
in  silent  contemplation.  His  hand,  tracing 
vague  contours  in  the  air,  seemed  to  be 
sketching  the  outlines  for  some  picture,  and 
he  would  have  remained  thus  for  whole 
hours  if  Nyssia,  soon  becoming  weary  of  her 
rôle  of  model,  had  not  reminded  him  in  chill 
and  disdainful  tones  that  such  amusements 
were  unworthy  of  royal  majesty  and  con- 
trary to  the  holy  laws  of  matrimony.  "  It 
is  thus,'*  she  would  exclaim,  as  she  with- 
drew, draped  to  her  very  eyes,  into  the  most 
mysterious  recesses  of  her  apartment,  **  that 
one  treats  a  mistress,  not  a  virtuous  woman 
of  noble  blood!  " 

These  wise  remonstrances  did  not  cure 
Candaules,  whose  passion  augmented  in  in- 
verse ratio  to  the  coldness  shown  him  by 
the  queen.  And  it  had  at  last  brought  him 
to  that  point  that  he  could  no  longer  keep 
the  secrets  of  the  nuptial  couch.  A  con- 
fidant became  as  necessary  to  him  as  to  the 
prince  of  a  modern  tragedy.  He  did  not 
proceed,  you  may  feel  assured,  to  fix  his 
choice   upon   some  crabbed    philosopher  of 


KING  CANDAULES  313 

frowning  mien,  with  a  flood  of  gray-and- 
white  beard  rolling  down  over  a  mantle  in 
proud  tatters;  nor  a  warrior  who  could  talk 
of  nothing  save  ballista,  catapults,  and 
scythed  chariots;  nor  a  sententious  Eupa- 
trid  full  of  counsels  and  politic  maxims;  but 
Gyges,  whose  reputation  for  gallantry  caused 
him  to  be  regarded  as  a  connoisseur  in  re- 
gard to  women. 

One  evening  he  laid  his  hand  upon  his 
shoulder  in  a  more  than  ordinarily  familiar 
and  cordial  manner,  and  after  giving  him  a 
look  of  peculiar  significance,  he  suddenly 
strode  away  from  the  group  of  courtiers, 
saying  in  a  loud  voice: 

"  Gyges,  come  and  give  me  your  opinion 
in  regard  to  my  effigy,  which  the  Sicyon 
sculptors  have  just  finished  chiselling  on 
the  genealogical  bas-relief  where  the  deeds 
of  my  ancestors  are  celebrated." 

"  O  king,  your  knowledge  is  greater  than 
that  of  your  humble  subject,  and  I  know 
not  how  to  express  my  gratitude  for  the 
honor  you  do  me  in  deigning  to  consult 
me,"  replied  Gyges,  with  a  sign  of  assent. 

Candaules  and  his  favorite  traversed  sev- 


314  KING  CANDAULES 

eral  halls  ornamented  in  the  Hellenic  style, 
where  the  Corinthian  acanthus  and  the  Ionic 
volute  bloomed  or  curled  in  the  capitals  of 
the  columns,  where  the  friezes  were  peopled 
with  little  figures  in  polychromatic  plastique 
representing  processions  and  sacrifices,  and 
they  finally  arrived  at  a  remote  portion  of 
the  ancient  palace  whose  walls  were  built 
with  stones  of  irregular  form,  put  together 
without  cement  in  the  Cyclopean  manner. 
This  ancient  architecture  was  colossally  pro- 
portioned and  weirdly  grim.  The  immeas- 
urable genius  of  the  elder  civilizations  of  the 
Orient  was  there  legibly  written,  and  re- 
called the  granite  and  brick  debauches  of 
Egypt  and  Assyria.  Something  of  the  spirit 
of  the  ancient  architects  of  the  tower  of 
Lylax  survived  in  those  thick-set  pillars 
with  their  deep-fluted  trunks,  whose  cap- 
itals were  formed  by  four  heads  of  bulls, 
placed  forehead  to  forehead,  and  bound  to- 
gether by  knots  of  serpents  that  seemed 
striving  to  devour  them,  an  obscure  cos- 
mogonie symbol  whereof  the  meaning  was 
no  longer  intelligible,  and  had  descended 
into  the  tomb  with  the  hierophants  of  pre- 


KING   CANDAULES  315 

ceding  ages.  The  gates  were  neither  of  a 
square  nor  rounded  form.  They  described 
a  sort  of  ogive  much  resembling  the  mitre 
of  the  Magi,  and  by  their  fantastic  character 
gave  still  more  intensity  to  the  character  of 
the  building. 

This  portion  of  the  palace  formed  a  sort 
of  court  surrounded  by  a  portico  whose  archi- 
tecture was  ornamented  with  the  genealogi- 
cal bas-relief  to  which  Candaules  had  alluded. 

In  the  midst  thereof  sat  Heracles  upon  a 
throne,  with  the  upper  part  of  his  body  un- 
covered, and  his  feet  resting  upon  a  stool, 
according  to  the  rite  for  the  representation 
of  divine  personages.  His  colossal  propor- 
tions would  otherwise  have  left  no  doubt  as 
to  his  apotheosis,  and  the  archaic  rudeness 
and  hugeness  of  the  work,  wrought  by  the 
chisel  of  some  primitive  artist,  imparted  to 
his  figure  an  air  of  barbaric  majesty,  a  sav- 
age grandeur  more  appropriate,  perhaps,  to 
the  character  of  this  monster-slaying  hero 
than  would  have  been  the  work  of  a  sculp- 
tor consummate  in  his  art. 

On  the  right  of  the  throne  were  Alcaeus, 
son   of  the  hero  and  of  Omphale;  Ninus, 


31 6  KING    CANDAULES 

Belus,  Argon,  the  earlier  kings  of  the  dy- 
nasty of  the  Heracleidae,  then  all  the  line  of 
intermediate  kings,  terminating  with  Ardys, 
Alyattes,  Meles  or  Myrsus,  father  of  Can- 
daules,  and  finally  Candaules  himself. 

All  these  personages,  with  their  hair 
braided  into  little  strings,  their  beards  spi- 
rally twisted,  their  oblique  eyes,  angular 
attitudes,  cramped  and  stiff  gestures,  seemed 
to  own  a  sort  of  factitious  life,  due  to  the 
rays  of  the  setting  sun,  and  the  ruddy  hue 
which  time  lends  to  marble  in  warm  cli- 
mates. The  inscriptions  in  antique  charac- 
ters, graven  beside  them  after  the  manner  of 
legends,  enhanced  still  more  the  mysterious 
weirdness  of  the  long  procession  of  figures 
in  strange  barbarian  garb. 

By  a  singular  chance,  which  Gyges  could 
not  help  observing,  the  statue  of  Candaules 
occupied  the  last  available  place  at  the  right 
hand  of  Heracles;  the  dynastic  cycle  was 
closed,  and  in  order  to  find  a  place  for  the 
descendants  of  Candaules  it  would  be  abso- 
lutely necessary  to  build  a  new  portico  and 
commence  the  formation  of  a  new  bas-relief. 

Candaules,  whose  arm  still  rested  on  the 


KING   CANDAULES  317 

shoulder  of  Gyges,  walked  slowly  round  the 
portico  in  silence.  He  seemed  to  hesitate 
to  enter  into  the  subject,  and  had  altogether 
forgotten  the  pretext  under  which  he  had 
led  the  captain  of  his  guards  into  that  soli- 
tary place. 

"  What  would  you  do,  Gyges,"  said  Can- 
daules,  at  last  breaking  the  silence  which 
had  been  growing  painful  to  both,  "  if  you 
were  a  diver,  and  should  bring  up  from  the 
green  bosom  of  the  ocean  a  pearl  of  incom- 
parable purity  and  lustre,  and  of  Avorth  so 
vast  as  to  exhaust  the  richest  treasures  of 
the  earth  ?  " 

"  I  would  inclose  it,"  answered  Gyges,  a 
little  surprised  at  this  brusque  question,  "  in 
a  cedar  box  overlaid  with  plates  of  brass, 
and  I  would  bury  it  under  a  detached  rock 
in  some  desert  place  ;  and  from  time  to  time, 
when  I  should  feel  assured  that  none  could 
see  me,  I  would  go  thither  to  contemplate 
my  precious  jewel  and  admire  the  colors  of 
the  sky  mingling  with  its  nacreous  tints." 

"  And  I,"  replied  Candaules,  his  eye  illu- 
minated with  enthusiasm,  "  if  I  possessed 
so  rich  a  gem,  I  would  enshrine  it   in  my 


3l8  KING  CANDAULES 

diadem,  that  I  might  exhibit  it  freely  to  the 
eyes  of  all  men,  in  the  pure  light  of  the  sun, 
that  I  might  adorn  myself  with  its  splendor 
and  smile  with  pride  when  I  should  hear  it 
said  :  *  Never  did  king  of  Assyria  or  Baby- 
lon, never  did  Greek  or  Trinacrian  tyrant 
possess  so  lustrous  a  pearl  as  Candaules,  son 
of  Myrsus  and  descendant  of  Heracles,  King 
of  Sardes  and  of  Lydia!  Compared  with 
Candaules,  Midas,  who  changed  all  things 
to  gold,  were  only  a  mendicant  as  poor  as 
Irus.'" 

Gyges  listened  with  astonishment  to  this 
discourse  of  Candaules,  and  sought  to  pene- 
trate the  hidden  sense  of  these  lyric  divaga- 
tions. The  king  appeared  to  be  in  a  state  of 
extraordinary  excitement  :  his  eyes  sparkled 
with  enthusiasm  ;  a  feverish  rosiness  tinted 
his  cheeks;  his  dilated  nostrils  inhaled  the 
air  with  unusual  effort. 

**  Well,  Gyges,"  continued  Candaules, 
without  appearing  to  notice  the  uneasiness 
of  his  favorite,  "  I  am  that  diver.  Amid 
this  dark  ocean  of  humanity,  wherein  con- 
fusedly move  so  many  defective  or  mis- 
shapen beings,  so  many  forms  incomplete  or 


KING  CANDAULES  319 

degraded,  so  many  types  of  bestial  ugliness, 
wretched  outlines  of  nature's  experimental 
essays,  I  have  found  beauty,  pure,  radiant, 
without  spot,  without  fîaw,  the  ideal  made 
real,  the  dream  accomplished,  a  form  which 
no  painter  or  sculptor  has  ever  been  able  to 
translate  upon  canvas  or  into  marble — I  have 
found  Nyssia!  " 

**  Although  the  queen  has  the  timid  mod- 
esty of  the  women  of  the  Orient,  and  that 
no  man  save  her  husband  has  ever  beheld 
her  features.  Fame,  hundred-tongued  and 
hundred-eared,  has  celebrated  her  praise 
throughout  the  world,"  answered  Gyges, 
respectfully  inclining  his  head  as  he  spoke. 

**  Mere  vague,  insignificant  rumors.  They 
say  of  her,  as  of  all  women  not  actually  ugly, 
that  she  is  more  beautiful  than  Aphrodite  or 
Helen  ;  but  no  person  could  form  even  the 
most  remote  idea  of  such  perfection.  In 
vain  have  I  besought  Nyssia  to  appear  un- 
veiled at  some  public  festival,  some  solemn 
sacrifice,  or  to  show  herself  for  an  instant 
leaning  over  the  royal  terrace,  bestowing 
upon  her  people  the  immense  favor  of  one 
look,    the  prodigality  of  one   profile  view, 


320  KING    CANDAULES 

more  generous  than  the  goddesses  who  per- 
mit their  worshippers  to  behold  only  pale 
simulacra  of  ivory  or  alabaster.  She  would 
never  consent  to  that.  Now  there  is  one 
strange  thing  which  I  blush  to  acknowledge 
even  to  you,  dear  Gyges.  Formerly  I  was 
jealous  ;  I  wished  to  conceal  my  amours  from 
all  eyes,  no  shadow  was  thick  enough,  no 
mystery  sufficiently  impenetrable.  Now  I 
can  no  longer  recognize  myself.  I  have  the 
feelings  neither  of  a  lover  nor  a  husband  ;  my 
love  has  melted  in  adoration  like  thin  wax  in 
a  fiery  brazier.  All  petty  feelings  of  jeal- 
ousy or  possession  have  vanished.  No,  the 
most  finished  work  that  heaven  has  ever 
given  to  earth,  since  the  day  that  Prome- 
theus held  the  flame  under  the  right  breast 
of  the  statue  of  clay,  cannot  thus  be  kept 
hidden  in  the  chill  shadow  of  the  gynaeceum. 
Were  I  to  die,  then  the  secret  of  this  beauty 
would  forever  remain  shrouded  beneath  the 
sombre  draperies  of  widowhood  !  I  feel  my- 
self culpable  in  its  concealment,  as  though  I 
had  the  sun  in  my  house,  and  prevented  it 
from  illuminating  the  world.  And  when  I 
think  of  those  harmonious  lines,  those  divine 


KING   CANDAULES  321 

contours  which  I  dare  scarcely  touch  with  a 
timid  kiss,  I  feel  my  heart  ready  to  burst;  I 
wish  that  some  friendly  eye  could  share  my 
happiness  and,  like  a  severe  judge  to  whom 
a  picture  is  shown,  recognize  after  careful 
examination  that  it  is  irreproachable,  and 
that  the  possessor  has  not  been  deceived  by 
his  enthusiasm.  Yes,  often  do  I  feel  myself 
tempted  to  tear  off  with  rash  hand  those 
odious  tissues,  but  Nyssia,  in  her  fierce  chas- 
tity, would  never  forgive  me.  And  still  I 
cannot  alone  endure  such  felicity.  I  must 
have  a  confidant  for  my  ecstasies,  an  echo 
which  will  answer  my  cries  of  admiration, 
and  it  shall  be  none  other  than  you." 

Having  uttered  these  words,  Candaules 
brusquely  turned  and  disappeared  through 
a  secret  passage.  Gyges,  left  thus  alone, 
could  not  avoid  noticing  the  peculiar  con- 
course of  events  which  seemed  to  place  him 
always  in  Nyssia's  path.  A  chance  had  en- 
abled him  to  behold  her  beauty,  though 
walled  up  from  all  other  eyes.  Among 
many  princes  and  satraps  she  had  chosen  to 
espouse  Candaules,  the  very  king  he  served; 
and  through  some  strange  caprice,  which  he 


322  KING  CANDAULES 

could  only  regard  as  fateful,  this  king  had 
just  made  him,  Gyges,  his  confidant  in  re- 
gard to  the  mysterious  creature  whom  none 
else  had  approached,  and  absolutely  sought 
to  complete  the  work  of  Boreas  on  the  plain 
of  Bactria!  Was  not  the  hand  of  the  gods 
visible  in  all  these  circumstances  ?  That 
spectre  of  beauty,  whose  veil  seemed  to  be 
lifted  slowly,  a  little  at  a  time,  as  though 
to  enkindle  a  flame  within  him,  was  it  not 
leading  him,  without  his  having  suspected  it, 
toward  the  accomplishment  of  some  mighty 
destiny  ?  Such  were  the  questions  which 
Gyges  asked  himself,  but  being  unable  to 
penetrate  the  obscurity  of  the  future,  he  re- 
solved to  await  the  course  of  events,  and  left 
the  Court  of  Images,  where  the  twilight 
darkness  was  commencing  to  jDile  itself  up 
in  all  the  angles,  and  to  render  the  effigies 
of  the  ancestors  of  Candaules  yet  more  and 
more  weirdly  menacing. 

Was  it  a  mere  efïort  of  light,  or  was  it 
rather  an  illusion  produced  by  that  vague 
uneasiness  with  which  the  boldest  hearts  are 
filled  by  the  approach  of  night  amid  ancient 
monuments  ?     As    he    stepped   across   the 


KING   CANDAULES  323 

threshold  Gyges  fancied  that  he  heard  deep 
groans  issue  from  the  stone  lips  of  the  bas- 
reliefs,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  Heracles 
was  making  enormous  efforts  to  loosen  his 
granite  club. 


CHAPTER    HI 

On  the  following  day  Candaules  again 
took  Gyges  aside  and  continued  the  conver- 
sation begun  under  the  portico  of  the  Hera- 
cleidse.  Having  freed  himself  from  the  em- 
barrassment of  broaching  the  subject,  he 
freely  unbosomed  himself  to  his  confidant; 
and  had  Nyssia  been  able  to  overhear  him 
she  might  perhaps  have  been  willing  to  par- 
don his  conjugal  indiscretions  for  the  sake  of 
his  passionate  eulogies  of  her  charms. 

Gyges  listened  to  all  these  bursts  of  praise 
with  the  slightly  constrained  air  of  one  who 
is  yet  uncertain  whether  his  interlocutor  is 
not  feigning  an  enthusiasm  more  ardent  than 
he  actually  feels,  in  order  to  provoke  a  con- 
fidence naturally  cautious  to  utter  itself. 
Candaules  at  last  said  to  him  in  a  tone  of 


324  KING  CANDAULES 

disappointment:  "  I  see,  Gyges,  that  you 
do  not  believe  me.  You  think  I  am  boast- 
ing, or  have  allowed  myself  to  be  fascinated 
like  some  clumsy  laborer  by  a  robust  coun- 
try girl  on  whose  cheeks  Hygeia  has  crushed 
the  gross  hues  of  health.  No,  by  all  the 
gods  !  I  have  collected  within  my  home, 
like  a  living  bouquet,  the  fairest  flowers  of 
Asia  and  of  Greece.  I  know  all  that  the  art 
of  sculptors  and  painters  has  produced  since 
the  time  of  Daedalus,  whose  statues  walked 
and  spoke.  Linus,  Orpheus,  Homer,  have 
taught  me  harmony  and  rhythm.  I  do  not 
look  about  me  with  Love's  bandage  blind- 
folding my  eyes.  I  judge  of  all  things 
coolly.  The  passions  of  youth  never  influ- 
ence my  admiration,  and  when  I  am  as  with- 
ered, decrepit,  wrinkled,  as  Tithonus  in  his 
swaddling  bands,  my  opinion  will  be  still  the 
same.  But  I  forgive  your  incredulity  and 
want  of  sympathy.  In  order  to  understand 
me  fully,  it  is  necessary  that  you  should  see 
Nyssia  in  the  radiant  brilliancy  of  her  shin- 
ing whiteness,  free  from  jealous  drapery, 
even  as  nature  with  her  own  hands  moulded 
her  in  a  lost  moment  of  inspiration  which 


KING  CANDAULES  325 

never  can  return.  This  evening  I  will  hide 
you  in  a  corner  of  the  bridal  chamber  .  .  . 
you  shall  see  her!  " 

**  Sire,  what  do  you  ask  of  me  ?  "  returned 
the  young  warrior  with  respectful  firmness. 
"  How  shall  I,  from  the  depths  of  my  dust, 
from  the  abyss  of  my  nothingness,  dare  to 
raise  my  eyes  to  this  sun  of  perfections,  at 
the  risk  of  remaining  blind  for  the  rest  of 
my  life,  or  being  able  to  see  naught  but  a 
dazzling  spectre  in  the  midst  of  darkness  ? 
Have  pity  on  your  humble  slave,  and  do  not 
compel  him  to  an  action  so  contrary  to  the 
maxims  of  virtue.  No  man  should  look 
upon  what  does  not  belong  to  him.  We 
know  that  the  immortals  always  punish  those 
who  through  imprudence  or  audacity  sur- 
prise them  in  their  divine  nudity.  Nyssia  is 
the  loveliest  of  all  women  ;  you  are  the  hap- 
piest of  lovers  and  husbands.  Heracles, 
your  ancestor,  never  found  in  the  course  of 
his  many  conquests  aught  to  compare  with 
your  queen.  If  you,  the  prince  of  whom 
even  the  most  skilful  artists  seek  judgment 
and  counsel — if  you  find  her  incomparable, 
of  what  consequence  can  the  opinion  of  an 


I 


326  KING  CANDAULES 

obscure  soldier  like  me  be  to  you  ?  Aban- 
don, therefore,  this  fantasy,  which  I  presume 
to  say  is  unworthy  of  your  royal  majesty, 
and  of  which  you  would  repent  so  soon  as  it 
had  been  satisfied." 

"  Listen,  Gyges,"  returned  Candaules; 
**  I  perceive  that  you  suspect  me;  you  think 
that  I  seek  to  put  you  to  some  proof,  but 
by  the  ashes  of  that  funeral  pyre  whence  my 
ancestor  arose  a  god,  I  swear  to  you  that  I 
speak  frankly  and  without  any  after-purpose." 

"  O  Candaules,  I  doubt  not  of  your  good 
faith  ;  your  passion  is  sincere,  but  perchance, 
after  I  should  have  obeyed  you,  you  would 
conceive  a  deep  aversion  to  me,  and  learn  to 
hate  me  for  not  having  more  firmly  resisted 
your  will.  You  would  seek  to  take  back 
from  these  eyes,  indiscreet  through  compul- 
sion, the  image  which  you  allowed  them  to 
glance  upon  in  a  moment  of  delirium;  and 
who  knows  but  that  you  would  condemn 
them  to  the  eternal  night  of  the  tomb  to 
punish  them  for  remaining  open  at  a  mo- 
ment when  they  ought  to  have  been  closed.  " 

**  Fear  nothing;  I  pledge  my  royal  word 
that  no  evil  shall  befall  you." 


KING  CANDAULES  327 

**  Pardon  your  slave  if  he  still  dares  to 
offer  some  objection,  even  after  such  a  prom- 
ise. Have  you  reflected  that  what  you  pro- 
pose to  me  is  a  violation  of  the  sanctity  of 
marriage,  a  species  of  visual  adultery  ?  A 
woman  often  lays  aside  her  modesty  with 
her  garments;  and  once  violated  by  a  look, 
without  having  actually  ceased  to  be  virtu- 
ous, she  might  deem  that  she  had  lost  her 
flower  of  purity.  You  promise,  indeed,  to 
feel  no  resentment  against  me;  but  who  can 
insure  me  against  the  wrath  of  Nyssia,  she 
who  is  so  reserved  and  chaste,  so  apprehen- 
sive, fierce,  and  virginal  in  her  modesty  that 
she  might  be  deemed  still  ignorant  of  the 
laws  of  Hymen  ?  Should  she  ever  learn  of 
the  sacrilege  which  I  am  about  to  render 
myself  guilty  of  in  deferring  to  my  master's 
wishes,  what  punishment  would  she  condemn 
me  to  suffer  in  expiation  of  such  a  crime  ? 
Who  could  place  me  beyond  the  reach  of 
her  avenging  anger  ?  " 

**  I  did  not  know  you  were  so  wise  and 
prudent,"  said  Candaules,  with  a  slightly 
ironical  smile;  **  but  such  dangers  are  all 
imaginary,  and  I  shall  hide  you  in  such  a 


328  KING  CANDAULES 

way  that  Nyssia  will  never  know  she  has 
been  seen  by  any  one  except  her  royal  hus- 
band." 

Being  unable  to  offer  any  further  defence, 
Gyges  made  a  sign  of  assent  in  token  of  com- 
plete submission  to  the  king's  will.  He  had 
made  all  the  resistance  in  his  power,  and 
thenceforward  his  conscience  could  feel  at 
ease  in  regard  to  whatever  might  happen; 
besides,  by  any  further  opposition  to  the 
will  of  Candaules,  he  would  have  feared  to 
oppose  destiny  itself,  which  seemed  striving 
to  bring  him  still  nearer  to  Nyssia  for  some 
grim  ulterior  purpose  into  which  it  was  not 
given  to  him  to  see  further. 

Without  actually  being  able  to  foresee 
any  result,  he  beheld  a  thousand  vague  and 
shadowy  images  passing  before  his  eyes. 
That  subterranean  love,  so  long  crouched  at 
the  foot  of  his  soul's  stairway,  had  climbed 
a  few  steps  higher,  guided  by  some  fitful 
glimmer  of  hope.  The  weight  of  the  impos- 
sible no  longer  pressed  so  heavily  upon  his 
breast,  now  that  he  believed  himself  aided 
by  the  gods.  In  truth,  who  would  have 
dreamed  that  the  much-boasted  charms  of 


KING  CANDAULES  329 

the  daughter  of  Megabazus  would  ere  long 
cease  to  own  any  mystery  for  Gyges  ? 

"  Come,  Gyges,"  said  Candaules,  taking 
him  by  the  hand,  **  let  us  make  profit  of  the 
time.  Nyssia  is  walking  in  the  garden  with 
her  women  ;  let  us  look  at  the  place,  and 
plan  our  stratagems  for  this  evening." 

The  king  took  his  confidant  by  the  hand 
and  led  him  along  the  winding  ways  which 
conducted  to  the  nuptial  apartment.  The 
doors  of  the  sleeping-room  were  made  of 
cedar  planks  so  perfectly  put  together  that 
it  was  impossible  to  discover  the  joints.  By 
dint  of  rubbing  them  with  wool  steeped  in 
oil,  the  slaves  had  rendered  the  wood  as  pol- 
ished as  marble.  The  brazen  nails,  with 
heads  cut  in  facets,  which  studded  them, 
had  all  the  brilliancy  of  the  purest  gold.  A 
complicated  system  of  straps  and  metallic 
rings,  whereof  Candaules  and  his  wife  alone 
knew  the  combination,  served  to  secure 
them,  for  in  those  heroic  ages  the  lockr 
smith's  art  was  yet  in  its  infancy. 

Candaules  unloosed  the  knots,  made  the 
rings  slide  back  upon  the  thongs,  raised  with 
a  handle  which  fitted  into  a  mortise  thp  bar 


330  KING  CANDAULES 

that  fastened  the  door  from  within,  and  bid- 
ding Gyges  place  himself  against  the  wall, 
turned  back  one  of  the  folding  doors  upon 
him  in  such  a  way  as  to  hide  him  completely  ; 
yet  the  door  did  not  fit  so  perfectly  to  its 
frame  of  oaken  beams,  all  carefully  polished 
and  put  up  according  to  line  by  a  skilful 
workman,  that  the  young  warrior  could  not 
obtain  a  distinct  view  of  the  chamber  interior 
through  the  interstices  contrived  to  give 
room  for  the  free  play  of  the  hinges. 

Facing  the  entrance,  the  royal  bed  stood 
upon  an  estrade  of  several  steps,  covered 
with  purple  drapery.  Columns  of  chased 
silver  supported  the  entablature,  all  orna- 
mented with  foliage  wrought  in  relief,  amid 
which  Loves  v/Gve  sporting  with  dolphins, 
and  heavy  curtains  embroidered  with  gold 
surrounded  it  like  the  folds  of  a  tent. 

Upon  the  altar  of  the  household  gods  were 
placed  vases  of  precious  metal,  paters  enam- 
elled with  flowers,  double-handled  cups,  and 
all  things  needful  for  libations. 

Along  the  walls,  which  were  faced  with 
planks  of  cedar-wood,  marvellously  worked, 
at   regular    intervals   stood    tall    statues    of 


KING  CANDAULES  33I 

black  basalt  in  the  constrained  attitudes  of 
Egyptian  art,  each  sustaining  in  its  hand  a 
bronze  torch  into  which  a  splinter  of  resin- 
ous wood  had  been  fitted. 

An  onyx  lamp,  suspended  by  a  chain  of 
silver,  hung  from  that  beam  of  the  ceiling 
which  is  called  the  black  beam,  because  more 
exposed  than  the  others  to  the  embrowning 
smoke.  Every  evening  a  slave  carefully 
filled  this  lamp  with  odoriferous  oil. 

Near  the  head  of  the  bed,  on  a  little  col- 
umn, hung  a  trophy  of  arms,  consisting  of  a 
visored  helmet,  a  twofold  buckler  made  of 
four  bull's  hides  and  covered  with  plates  of 
brass  and  tin,  a  two-edged  sword,  and  sev- 
eral ashen  javelins  with  brazen  heads. 

The  tunics  and  mantles  of  Candaules  were 
hung  upon  wooden  pegs.  They  comprised 
garments  both  simple  and  double;  that  is, 
capable  of  going  twice  around  the  body.  A 
mantle  of  thrice-dyed  purple,  ornamented 
with  embroidery  representing  a  hunting 
scene  wherein  Laconian  hounds  were  pursu- 
ing and  tearing  deer,  and  a  tunic  whereof 
the  material,  fine  and  delicate  as  the  skin 
which  envelops  an  onion,  had  all  the  sheen 


332  KING  CANDAULES 

of  woven  sunbeams,  were  especially  notice- 
able. Opposite  to  the  trophy  stood  an  arm- 
chair inlaid  with  silver  and  ivory  upon  which 
Nyssia  hung  her  garments.  Its  seat  was 
covered  with  a  leopard  skin  more  eye-spotted 
than  the  body  of  Argus,  and  its  foot-support 
was  richly  adorned  with  open-work  carving. 

"  I  am  generally  the  first  to  retire,"  ob- 
served Candaules  to  Gyges,  "  and  I  always 
leave  this  door  open  as  it  is  now.  Nyssia, 
who  has  invariably  some  tapestry  flower  to 
finish,  or  some  order  to  give  her  women, 
usually  delays  a  little  in  joining  me;  but  at 
last  she  comes,  and  slowly  takes  off,  one  by 
one,  as  though  the  effort  cost  her  dearly,  and 
lays  upon  that  ivory  chair  all  those  draperies 
and  tunics  which  by  day  envelop  her  like 
mummy  bandages.  From  your  hiding-place 
you  will  be  able  to  follow  all  her  graceful 
movements,  admire  her  unrivalled  charms, 
and  judge  for  yourself  whether  Candaules 
be  a  young  fool  prone  to  vain  boasting,  or 
whether  he  does  not  really  possess  the  rich- 
est pearl  of  beauty  that  ever  adorned  a 
diadem." 

"  O  King,  I  can  well  believe  your  words 


KING   CANDAULES  3$$ 

without  such  a  proof  as  this,"  replied  Gyges, 
stepping  forth  from  his  hiding-place. 

"  When  she  has  laid  aside  her  garments," 
continued  Candaules,  without  heeding  the 
exclamation  of  his  confidant,  "  she  will  come 
to  lie  down  with  me.  You  must  take  advan- 
tage of  the  moment  to  steal  away,  for  in 
passing  from  the  chair  to  the  bed  she  turns 
her  back  to  the  door.  Step  lightly  as  though 
you  were  treading  upon  ears  of  ripe  wheat; 
take  heed  that  no  grain  of  sand  squeaks  un- 
der your  sandals  ;  hold  your  breath,  and  re- 
tire as  stealthily  as  possible.  The  vestibule 
is  all  in  darkness,  and  the  feeble  rays  of  the 
only  lamp  which  remains  burning  do  not 
penetrate  beyond  the  threshold  of  the  cham- 
ber. It  is  therefore  certain  that  Nyssia  can- 
not possibly  see  you  ;  and  to-morrow  there 
will  be  some  one  in  the  world  who  can  com- 
prehend my  ecstasies,  and  will  feel  no  longer 
astonished  at  my  bursts  of  admiration.  But 
see,  the  day  is  almost  spent;  the  Sun  will 
soon  water  his  steeds  in  the  Hesperian  waves 
at  the  further  end  of  the  v/orld,  and  beyond 
the  Pillars  erected  by  my  ancestors.  Return 
to  your  hiding-place,  Gyges,  and  though  the 


334  KING  CANDAULES 

hours  of  waiting  may  seem  long,  I  can  swear 
by  Eros  of  the  Golden  Arrows  that  you  will 
not  regret  having  waited." 

After  this  assurance  Candaules  left  Gyges 
again  hidden  behind  the  door.  The  compul- 
sory quiet  which  the  king's  young  confidant 
found  himself  obliged  to  maintain  left  him 
ample  leisure  for  thought.  His  situation 
was  certainly  a  most  extraordinary  one.  He 
had  loved  Nyssia  as  one  loves  a  star.  Con- 
vinced of  the  hopelessness  of  the  undertak- 
ing, he  had  made  no  effort  to  approach  her. 
And  nevertheless,  by  a  succession  of  ex- 
traordinary events  he  was  about  to  obtain 
a  knowledge  of  treasures  reserved  for  lovers 
and  husbands  only.  Not  a  word,  not  a 
glance  had  been  exchanged  between  himself 
and  Nyssia,  who  probably  ignored  the  very 
existence  of  the  one  being  for  whom  her 
beauty  would  so  soon  cease  to  be  a  mystery. 
Unknown  to  her  whose  modesty  would  have 
naught  to  sacrifice  for  you,  how  strange  a 
situation  !  To  love  a  woman  in  secret  and 
find  one's  self  led  by  her  husband  to  the 
threshold  of  the  nuptial  chamber,  to  have 
for  guide  to  that  treasure  the  very  dragon 


KING  CANDAULES  335 

who  should  defend  all  approach  to  it,  was 
there  not  in  all  this  ample  food  for  astonish- 
ment and  wonder  at  the  combination  of 
events  wrought  by  destiny  ? 

In  the  midst  of  these  reflections,  he  sud- 
denly heard  the  sound  of  footsteps  on  the 
pavement.  It  was  only  the  slaves  coming 
to  replenish  the  oil  in  the  lamp,  throw  fresh 
perfumes  upon  the  coals  of  the  klamklinSy 
and  arrange  the  purple  and  saffron-tinted 
sheepskins  which  formed  the  royal  bed. 

The  hour  approached,  and  Gyges  felt  his 
heart  beat  faster,  and  the  pulsation  of  his 
arteries  quicken.  He  even  felt  a  strong  im- 
pulse to  steal  away  before  the  arrival  of  the 
queen,  and,  after  averring  subsequently  to 
Candaules  that  he  had  remained,  abandon 
himself  confidently  to  the  most  extravagant 
eulogiums.  He  felt  a  strong  repugnance 
(for,  despite  his  somewhat  free  life,  Gyges 
was  not  without  delicacy)  to  take  by  stealth 
a  favor  for  the  free  granting  of  which  he 
would  gladly  have  paid  with  his  life.  The 
husband's  complicity  rendered  this  theft 
more  odious  in  a  certain  sense,  and  he  would 
have  preferred  to  owe  to  any  other  circum- 


336  KING  CANDAULES 

stance  the  happiness  of  beholding  the  mar- 
vel of  Asia  in  her  nocturnal  toilet.  Perhaps, 
indeed,  the  approach  of  danger,  let  us  ac- 
knowledge as  veracious  historians,  had  no 
little  to  do  with  his  virtuous  scruples.  Un- 
doubtedly Gyges  did  not  lack  courage. 
Mounted  upon  his  war-chariot,  with  quiver 
rattling  upon  his  shoulder,  and  bow  in  hand, 
he  would  have  defied  the  most  valiant  war- 
riors ;  in  the  chase  he  would  have  attacked 
without  fear  the  Calydon  boar  or  the  Ne- 
mean  lion  ;  but — explain  the  enigma  as  you 
will — he  trembled  at  the  idea  of  looking  at  a 
beautiful  woman  through  a  chink  in  a  door. 
No  one  possesses  every  kind  of  courage.  He 
felt  likewise  that  he  could  not  behold  Nyssia 
with  impunity.  It  would  be  a  decisive  epoch 
in  his  life.  Through  having  obtained  but  a 
momentary  glimpse  of  her  he  had  lost  all 
peace  of  mind  ;  what,  then,  would  be  the  re- 
sult of  that  which  was  about  to  take  place  ? 
Could  life  itself  continue  for  him  when  to 
that  divine  head  which  fired  his  dreams 
should  be  added  a  charming  body  formed 
for  the  kisses  of  the  immortals  ?  What 
would  become  of  him  should  he  find  himself 


KING  CANDAULES  337 

unable  thereafter  to  contain  his  passion  in 
darkness  and  silence  as  he  had  done  till  that 
time  ?  Would  he  exhibit  to  the  court  of 
Lydia  the  ridiculous  spectacle  of  an  insane 
love,  or  would  he  strive  by  some  extravagant 
action  to  bring  down  upon  himself  the  dis- 
dainful pity  of  the  queen  ?  Such  a  result 
was  strongly  probable,  since  the  reason  of 
Candaules  himself,  the  legitimate  possessor 
of  Nyssia,  had  been  unable  to  resist  the  ver- 
tigo caused  by  that  superhuman  beauty — he, 
the  thoughtless  young  king  who  till  then 
had  laughed  at  love,  and  preferred  pictures 
and  statues  before  all  things.  These  argu- 
ments were  very  rational  but  wholly  useless, 
for  at  the  same  moment  Candaules  entered 
the  chamber,  and  exclaimed  in  a  low  but 
distinct  voice  as  he  passed  the  door: 

"  Patience,  my  poor  Gyges,  Nyssia  will 
soon  come.  " 

When  he  saw  that  he  could  no  longer  re- 
treat, Gyges,  who  was  but  a  young  man  after 
all,  forgot  every  other  consideration,  and  no 
longer  thought  of  aught  save  the  happiness 
of  feasting  his  eyes  upon  the  charming  spec- 
tacle which  Candaules  was  about  to  offer 
22 


338  KING  CANDAULES 

him.  One  cannot  demand  from  a  captain 
of  twenty-five  the  austerity  of  a  hoary  phi- 
losopher. 

At  last  a  low  whispering  of  raiment  sweep- 
ing and  trailing  over  marble,  distinctly  audi- 
ble in  the  deep  silence  of  the  night,  an- 
nounced the  approach  of  the  queen.  In 
effect  it  was  she.  With  a  step  as  cadenced 
and  rhythmic  as  an  ode,  she  crossed  the 
threshold  of  the  thalam.us,  and  the  wind  of 
her  veil  with  its  floating  folds  almost  touched 
the  burning  cheek  of  Gyges,  who  felt  well- 
nigh  on  the  point  of  fainting,  and  found  him- 
self compelled  to  seek  the  support  of  the 
wall;  but  soon  recovering  from  the  violence 
of  his  emotions,  he  approached  the  chink  of 
the  door,  and  took  the  most  favorable  posi- 
tion for  enabling  him  to  lose  nothing  of  the 
scene  whereof  he  was  about  to  be  an  invisi- 
ble witness. 

Nyssia  advanced  to  the  ivory  chair  and 
commenced  to  detach  the  pins,  terminated 
by  hollow  balls  of  gold,  which  fastened  her 
veil  upon  her  head  ;  and  Gyges  from  the 
depths  of  the  shadow-filled  angle  where  he 
stood  concealed  could  examine  at  his  ease 


KING  CANDAULES  33g 

the  proud  and  charming  face  of  which  he 
had  before  obtained  only  a  hurried  glimpse  ; 
that  rounded  neck,  at  once  delicate  and  pow- 
erful, whereon  Aphrodite  had  traced  with  the 
nail  of  her  little  finger  those  three  faint  lines 
which  are  still  at  this  very  day  known  as  the 
**  necklace  of  Venus;"  that  white  nape  on 
whose  alabaster  surface  little  wild,  rebellious 
curls  were  disporting  and  entwining  them- 
selves; those  silver  shoulders,  half  rising 
from  the  opening  of  the  chlarnys,  like  the 
moon's  disk  emerging  from  an  opaque  cloud. 
Candaules,  half  reclining  upon  his  cushions, 
gazed  with  fondness  upon  his  wife,  and 
thought  to  himself:  **  Now  Gyges,  who  is 
so  cold,  so  difficult  to  please,  and  so  skepti- 
cal, must  be  already  half  convinced." 

Opening  a  little  coffer  which  stood  on  a 
table  supported  by  one  leg  terminating  in 
carven  lion's  paws,  the  queen  freed  her 
beautiful  arms  from  the  weight  of  the  brace- 
lets and  jewelry  wherewith  they  had  been 
overburdened  during  the  day — arms  whose 
form  and  whiteness  might  well  have  enabled 
them  to  compare  with  those  of  Hera,  sister 
and  wife  of  Zeus,  the  lord  of  Olympus.     Pre- 


340  KING  CANDAULES 

cious  as  were  her  jewels,  they  were  assuredly 
not  worth  the  spots  which  they  concealed, 
and  had  Nyssia  been  a  coquette,  one  might 
have  well  supposed  that  she  only  donned 
them  in  order  that  she  should  be  entreated 
to  take  them  off.  The  rings  and  chased 
work  had  left  upon  her  skin,  fine  and  tender 
as  the  interior  pulp  of  a  lily,  light  rosy  im- 
prints, which  she  soon  dissipated  by  rubbing 
them  with  her  little  taper-fingered  hand,  all 
rounded  and  slender  at  its  extremities. 

Then  with  the  movement  of  a  dove  trem- 
bling in  the  snow  of  its  feathers,  she  shook 
her  hair,  which  being  no  longer  held  by  the 
golden  pins,  rolled  down  in  languid  spirals 
like  hyacinth  flowers  over  her  back  and  bo- 
som. Thus  she  remained  for  a  few  moments 
ere  reassembling  the  scattered  curls  and 
finally  reuniting  them  into  one  mass.  It 
was  marvellous  to  watch  the  blond  ringlets 
streaming  like  jets  of  liquid  gold  between 
the  silver  of  her  fingers;  and  her  arms  un- 
dulating like  swans*  necks  as  they  were 
arched  above  her  head  in  the  act  of  twisting 
and  confining  the  natural  bullion.  If  you 
have  ever  by  chance  examined  one  of  those 


KING  CANDAULES  34I 

beautiful  Etruscan  vases  with  red  figures  on 
a  black  ground,  and  decorated  with  one  of 
those  subjects  which  are  designated  under 
the  title  of  "  Greek  Toilette,"  then  you  will 
have  some  idea  of  the  grace  of  Nyssia  in  that 
attitude  which,  from  the  age  of  antiquity  to 
our  own  era,  has  furnished  such  a  multi- 
tude of  happy  designs  for  painters  and 
statuaries. 

Having  thus  arranged  her  coiffure,  she 
seated  herself  upon  the  edge  of  the  ivory 
footstool  and  commenced  to  untie  the  little 
bands  which  fastened  her  buskins.  We  mod- 
erns, owing  to  our  horrible  system  of  foot- 
gear, which  is  hardly  less  absurd  than  the 
Chinese  shoe,  no  longer  know  what  a  foot 
is.  That  of  Nyssia  was  of  a  perfection  rare 
even  in  Greece  and  antique  Asia.  The  great 
toe,  a  little  apart  like  the  thumb  of  a  bird, 
the  other  toes,  slightly  long,  and  ail  ranged 
in  charming  symmetry,  the  nails  well  shaped 
and  brilliant  as  agates,  the  ankles  well 
rounded  and  supple,  the  heel  slightly  tinted 
with  a  rosy  hue — nothing  was  wanting  to  the 
perfection  of  the  little  member.  The  leg 
attached  to  this  foot,   and  which  gleamed 


342  KING  CANDAULES 

like  polished  marble  under  the  lamp-light, 
was  irreproachable  in  the  purity  of  its  out- 
lines and  the  grace  of  its  curves. 

Gyges,  lost  in  contemplation,  though  all 
the  while  fully  comprehending  the  madness 
of  Candaules,  said  to  himself  that  had  the 
gods  bestowed  such  a  treasure  upon  him  he 
would  have  known  how  to  keep  it  to  him- 
self. 

"  Well,  Nyssia,  are  you  not  coming  to 
sleep  with  me  ?  "  exclaimed  Candaules,  see- 
ing that  the  queen  was  not  hurrying  herself 
in  the  least,  and  feeling  desirous  to  abridge 
the  watch  of  Gyges. 

Yes,  my  dear  lord,  I  will  soon  be  ready,  '  * 
answered  Nyssia. 

And  she  detached  the  cameo  which  fast- 
ened the  peplum  upon  her  shoulder.  There 
remained  only  the  tunic  to  let  fall.  Gyges, 
behind  the  door,  felt  his  veins  hiss  through 
his  temples;  his  heart  beat  so  violently  that 
he  feared  it  must  make  itself  heard  in  the 
chamber,  and  to  repress  its  fierce  pulsations 
he  pressed  his  hand  upon  his  bosom;  and 
when  Nyssia,  with  a  movement  of  careless 
grace,  unfastened  the  girdle  of  her  tunic,  he 


KING  CANDAULES  343 

thought  his  knees  would  give  way  beneath 
him. 

Nyssia — was  it  an  instinctive  presenti- 
ment, or  was  her  skin,  virginally  pure  from 
profane  looks,  so  delicately  magnetic  in  its 
susceptibility  that  it  could  feel  the  rays  of  a 
passionate  eye  though  that  eye  was  invisi- 
ble ? — Nyssia  hesitated  to  strip  herself  of 
that  tunic,  the  last  rampart  of  her  modesty. 
Twice  or  thrice  her  shoulders,  her  bosom, 
and  bare  arms  shuddered  with  a  nervous 
chill,  as  though  they  had  been  suddenly 
grazed  by  the  wings  of  a  nocturnal  butter- 
fly, or  as  though  an  insolent  lip  had  dared 
to  touch  them  in  the  darkness. 

At  last,  seeming  to  nerve  herself  for  a  sud- 
den resolve,  she  doffed  the  tunic  in  its  turn  ; 
and  the  white  poem  of  her  divine  body  sud- 
denly appeared  in  all  its  splendor,  like  the 
statue  of  a  goddess  unveiled  on  the  day  of  a 
temple's  inauguration.  Shuddering  with 
pleasure  the  light  glided  and  gloated  over 
those  exquisite  forms,  and  covered  them 
with  timid  kisses,  profiting  by  an  occasion, 
alas,  rare  indeed  !  The  rays  scattered 
through  the  chamber,  disdaining  to  illumi- 


344  KING  CANDAULES 

nate  golden  arms,  jewelled  clasps,  or  brazen 
tripods,  all  concentrated  themselves  upon 
Nyssia,  and  left  all  other  objects  in  obscu- 
rity. Were  we  Greeks  of  the  age  of  Pericles 
we  might  at  our  ease  eulogize  those  beauti- 
ful serpentine  lines,  those  polished  flanks, 
those  elegant  curves,  those  breasts  which 
might  have  served  as  moul-ds  for  the  cup  of 
Hebe;  but  modern  prudery  forbids  such  de- 
scriptions, for  the  pen  cannot  find  pardon 
for  what  is  permitted  to  the  chisel;  and  be- 
sides, there  are  some  things  which  can  be 
written  of  only  in  marble. 

Candaules  smiled  in  proud  satisfaction. 
With  a  rapid  step,  as  though  ashamed  of 
being  so  beautiful,  for  she  was  only  the 
daughter  of  a  man  and  a  woman,  Nyssia  ap- 
proached the  bed,  her  arms  folded  upon  her 
bosom  ;  but  with  a  sudden  movement  she 
turned  round  ere  taking  her  place  upon  the 
couch  beside  her  royal  spouse,  and  beheld 
through  the  aperture  of  the  door  a  gleaming 
eye  flaming  like  the  carbuncle  of  Oriental 
legend;  for  if  it  were  false  that  she  had  a 
double  pupil,  and  that  she  possessed  the 
stone  which  is  found  in  the  heads  of  dragons, 


KING  CANDAULES  345 

it  was  at  least  true  that  lier  green  glance 
penetrated  darkness  like  the  glaucous  eye  of 
the  cat  and  tiger. 

A  cry,  like  that  of  a  fawn  who  receives  an 
arrow  in  her  flank  while  tranquilly  dreaming 
among  the  leafy  shadows,  was  on  the  point 
of  bursting  from  her  lips,  yet  she  found 
strength  to  control  herself,  and  lay  down  be- 
side Candaules,  cold  as  a  serpent,  with  the 
violets  of  death  upon  her  cheeks  and  lips. 
Not  a  muscle  of  her  limbs  quivered,  not  a 
fibre  of  her  body  palpitated,  and  soon  her 
slow,  regular  breathing  seemed  to  indicate 
that  Morpheus  had  distilled  his  poppy  juice 
upon  her  eyelids. 

She  had  divined  and  comprehended  all. 


CHAPTER    IV 

Gyges,  trembling  and  distracted  with  pas- 
sion, had  retired,  following  exactly  the  in- 
structions of  Candaules;  and  if  Nyssia, 
through  some  unfortunate  chance,  had  not 
turned  her  head  ere  taking  her  place  upon 
the  couch,  and  perceived  him  in  the  act  of 


346  KING  CANDAULES 

taking  flight,  doubtless  she  would  have  re- 
mained forever  unconscious  of  the  outrage 
done  to  her  charms  by  a  husband  more  pas- 
sionate than  scrupulous. 

Accustomed  to  the  winding  corridors  of 
the  palace,  the  young  warrior  had  no  diffi- 
culty in  finding  his  way  out.  He  passed 
through  the  city  at  a  reckless  pace  like  a 
madman  escaped  from  Anticyra,  and  by 
making  himself  known  to  the  sentinels  who 
guarded  the  ramparts,  he  had  the  gates 
opened  for  him  and  gained  the  fields  be- 
yond. His  brain  burned,  his  cheeks  flamed 
as  with  the  fires  of  fever;  his  breath  came 
hotly  panting  through  his  lips;  he  flung 
himself  down  upon  the  meadow-sod  humid 
with  the  tears  of  the  night  ;  and  at  last  hear- 
ing in  the  darkness,  through  the  thick  grass 
and  water-plants,  the  silvery  respiration  of  a 
Naiad,  he  dragged  himself  to  the  spring, 
plunged  his  hands  and  arms  into  the  crystal 
flood,  bathed  his  face,  and  drank  several 
mouthfuls  of  the  water  in  the  hope  to  cool 
the  ardor  which  was  devouring  him.  Any 
one  who  could  have  seen  him  thus  hopelessly 
bending  over  the  spring  in  the  feeble  star- 


KING  CANDAULES  347 

light  would  have  taken  him  for  Narcissus 
pursuing  his  own  shadow  ;  but  it  was  not  of 
himself  assuredly  that  Gyges  was  enamoured. 
The  rapid  apparition  of  Nyssia  had  dazzled 
his  eyes  like  the  keen  zigzag  of  a  lightning- 
flash.  He  beheld  her  floating  before  him  in 
a  luminous  whirlwind,  and  felt  that  never 
through  all  his  life  could  he  banish  that  im- 
age from  his  vision.  His  love  had  grown  to 
vastness;  its  flower  had  suddenly  burst,  like 
those  plants  which  open  their  blossoms  with 
a  clap  of  thunder.  To  master  his  passion 
were  henceforth  a  thing  impossible  :  as  well 
counsel  the  empurpled  waves  which  Poseidon 
lifts  with  his  trident  to  lie  tranquilly  in  their 
bed  of  sand  and  cease  to  foam  upon  the 
rocks  of  the  shore.  Gyges  was  no  longer 
master  of  himself,  and  he  felt  a  miserable 
despair,  as  of  a  man  riding  in  a  chariot,  who 
finds  his  terrified  and  uncontrollable  horses 
rushing  with  all  the  speed  of  a  furious  gal- 
lop toward  some  rock-bristling  precipice.  A 
hundred  thousand  projects,  each  wilder  than 
the  last,  whirled  confusedly  through  his 
brain.  He  blasphemed  Destiny,  he  cursed 
his  mother  for  having  given  him  life,  and  the 


348  KING   CANDAULES 

gods  that  they  had  not  caused  him  to  be 
born  to  a  throne,  for  then  he  might  have 
been  able  to  espouse  the  daughter  of  the 
satrap. 

A  frightful  agony  gnawed  at  his  heart  ;  he 
was  jealous  of  the  king.  From  the  moment 
of  the  tunic's  fall  at  the  feet  of  Nyssia,  like 
the  flight  of  a  white  dove  alighting  upon  a 
meadow,  it  had  seemed  to  him  that  she  be- 
longed to  him;  he  deemed  himself  despoiled 
of  his  wealth  by  Candaules.  In  all  his  amor- 
ous reveries  he  had  never  until  then  thought 
of  the  husband  ;  he  had  thought  of  the  queen 
only  as  of  a  pure  abstraction,  without  repre- 
senting to  himself  in  fancy  all  those  intimate 
details  of  conjugal  familiarity,  so  poignant, 
so  bitter  for  those  who  love  a  woman  in  the 
power  of  another.  Now  he  had  beheld  Nys- 
sia's  blonde  head  bending  like  a  blossom  be- 
side the  dark  head  of  Candaules.  The  very 
thought  of  it  had  iniîamed  his  anger  to  the 
highest  degree,  although  a  moment's  reflec- 
tion should  have  convinced  him  that  things 
could  not  have  come  to  pass  otherwise,  and 
he  felt  growing  within  him  a  most  unjust 
hatred  against  his  master.     The  act  of  hav- 


KING  CANDAULES  349 

ing  compelled  his  presence  at  the  queen's 
dishabille  seemed  to  him  a  barbarous  irony, 
an  odious  refinement  of  cruelty,  for  he  .did 
not  remember  that  his  love  for  her  could  not 
have  been  known  by  the  king,  who  had 
sought  in  him  only  a  confidant  of  easy  mor- 
als and  a  connoisseur  in  beauty.  That  which 
he  ought  to  have  regarded  as  a  great  favor 
affected  him  like  a  mortal  injury  for  which 
he  was  meditating  vengeance.  While  think- 
ing that  to-morrow  the  same  scene  of  which 
he  had  been  a  mute  and  invisible  witness 
would  infallibly  renew  itself,  his  tongue  clove 
to  his  palate,  his  forehead  became  imbeaded 
with  drops  of  cold  sweat,  and  his  hand  con- 
vulsively grasped  the  hilt  of  his  great  double- 
edged  sword. 

Nevertheless,  thanks  to  the  freshness  of 
the  night,  that  excellent  counsellor,  he  be- 
came a  little  calmer,  and  returned  to  Sardes 
before  the  morning  light  had  become  bright 
enough  to  enable  a  few  early  rising  citizens 
and  slaves  to  notice  the  pallor  of  his  brow 
and  the  disorder  of  his  apparel.  He  betook 
himself  to  his  regular  post  at  the  palace,  well 
suspecting  that  Candaules  would  shortly  send 


350  KING  CANDAULES 

for  him  ;  and,  however  violent  the  agitation 
of  his  feelings,  he  felt  he  was  not  powerful 
enough  to  brave  the  anger  of  the  king,  and 
could  in  no  way  escape  submitting  again  to 
this  rôle  of  confidant,  which  could  thence- 
forth only  inspire  him  with  horror.  Having 
arrived  at  the  palace,  he  seated  himself  upon 
the  steps  of  the  cypress-panelled  vestibule, 
leaned  his  back  against  a  column,  and,  un- 
der the  pretext  of  being  fatigued  by  the  long 
vigil  under  arms,  he  covered  his  head  with 
his  mantle  and  feigned'  sleep  to  avoid  an- 
swering the  questions  of  the  other  guards. 

If  the  night  had  been  terrible  to  Gyges,  it 
had  not  been  less  so  to  Nyssia,  as  she  never 
for  an  instant  doubted  that  he  had  been  pur- 
posely hidden  there  by  Candaules.  The 
king's  persistency  in  begging  her  not  to  veil 
so  austerely  a  face  which  the  gods  had  made 
for  the  admiration  of  men,  his  evident  vex- 
ation upon  her  refusal  to  appear  in  Greek 
costume  at  the  sacrifices  and  public  solemni- 
ties, his  unsparing  raillery  at  what  he  termed 
her  barbarian  shyness,  all  tended  to  convince 
her  that  the  young  Heracleid  had  sought  to 
admit  some  one  into  those  mysteries  which 


KING  CANDAULES  35 1 

should  remain  secret  to  all,  for  without  his 
encouragement  no  man  could  have  dared  to 
risk  himself  in  an  undertaking  the  discovery 
of  which  would  have  resulted  in  the  punish- 
ment of  a  speedy  death. 

How  slowly  did  the  black  hours  seem  to 
her  to  pass!  How  anxiously  did  she  await 
the  coming  of  dawn  to  mingle  its  bluish  tints 
with  the  yellow  gleams  of  the  almost  ex- 
hausted lamp  !  It  seemed  to  her  that  Apollo 
would  never  mount  his  chariot  again,  and 
that  some  invisible  hand  was  sustaining  the 
sand  of  the  hour-glass  in  air.  Though  brief 
as  any  other,  that  night  seemed  to  her  like 
the  Cimmerian  nights,  six  long  months  of 
darkness. 

While  it  lasted  she  lay  motionless  and 
rigid  at  full  length  on  the  very  edge  of  her 
couch  in  dread  of  being  touched  by  Can- 
daules.  If  she  had  not  up  to  that  night  felt 
a  very  strong  love  for  the  son  of  Myrsus,  she 
had,  at  least,  ever  exhibited  toward  him  that 
grave  and  serene  tenderness  which  every  vir- 
tuous woman  entertains  for  her  husband, 
although  the  altogether  Greek  freedom  of 
his   morals    frequently  displeased  her,   and 


352  KING  CAXDAULES 

though  he  entertained  ideas  at  variance  with 
her  own  in  regard  to  modesty;  but  after 
such  an  affront  she  could  only  feel  the  chilli- 
est hatred  and  most  icy  contempt  for  him; 
she  would  have  preferred  even  death  to  one 
of  his  caresses.  Such  an  outrage  it  was  im- 
possible to  forgive,  for  among  the  barbarians, 
and  above  all  among  the  Persians  and  Bac- 
trians,  it  was  held  a  great  disgrace,  not  for 
women  only,  but  even  for  men,  to  be  seen 
without  their  garments. 

At  length  Candaules  arose,  and  Nyssia, 
awaking  from  her  simulated  sleep,  hurried 
from  that  chamber  now  profaned  in  her  eyes 
as  though  it  had  served  for  the  nocturnal 
orgies  of  Bacchantes  and  courtesans.  It  was 
agony  for  her  to  breathe  that  impure  air  any 
longer,  and  that  she  might  freely  give  her- 
self up  to  her  grief  she  took  refuge  in  the 
upper  apartments  reserved  for  the  women, 
summoned  her  slaves  by  clapping  her  hands, 
and  poured  ewers  of  water  over  her  shoul- 
ders, her  bosom,  and  her  whole  body,  as 
though  hoping  by  this  species  of  lustral  ablu- 
tion to  efface  the  soil  imprinted  by  the  eyes 
of  Gyges.     She  would  have  voluntarily  torn, 


KING  CANDAULES  355 

as  it  were,  from  her  body  that  skin  upon 
which  the  rays  shot  from  a  burning  pupil 
seemed  to  have  left  their  traces.  Taking 
from  the  hands  of  her  waiting  women  the 
thick  downy  materials  which  served  to  drink 
up  the  last  pearls  of  the  bath,  she  wiped  her- 
self with  such  violence  that  a  slight  purple 
cloud  rose  to  the  spots  she  had  rubbed. 

"  In  vain,"  she  exclaimed,  letting  the 
damp  tissues  fall,  and  dismissing  her  attend- 
ants— "  in  vain  would  I  pour  over  myself  all 
the  waters  of  all  the  springs  and  the  rivers  ; 
the  ocean  with  all  its  bitter  gulfs  could  not 
purify  me.  Such  a  stain  may  be  washed 
out  only  with  blood.  Oh,  that  look,  that 
look!  It  has  incrusted  itself  upon  me;  it 
clasps  me,  covers  me,  burns  me  like  the  tunic 
dipped  in  the  blood  of  Nessus;  I  feel  it  be- 
neath my  draperies,  like  an  envenomed  tissue 
which  nothing  can  detach  from  my  body! 
Now,  indeed,  would  I  vainly  pile  garments 
upon  garments,  select  materials  the  least 
transparent,  and  the  thickest  of  mantles.  I 
would  none  the  less  bear  upon  my  naked 
flesh  this  infamous  robe  woven  by  one  adul- 
terous and  lascivious  glance.  Vainly,  since 
23 


3S4  KING  CANDAULES 

the  hour  when  I  issued  from  the  chaste 
womb  of  my  mother,  have  I  been  brought 
up  in  private,  enveloped  Hke  Isis,  the  Egyp- 
tian goddess,  with  a  veil  of  which  none  might 
have  lifted  the  hem  without  paying  for  his 
audacity  with  his  life.  In  vain  have  I  re- 
mained guarded  from  all  evil  desires,  from 
all  profane  imaginings,  unknown  of  men, 
virgin  as  the  snow  on  which  the  eagle  himself 
could  not  imprint  the  seal  of  his  talons,  so 
loftily  does  the  mountain  which  it  covers  lift 
its  head  in  the  pure  and  icy  air.  The  de- 
praved caprice  of  a  Lydian  Greek  has  suf- 
ficed to  make  me  lose  in  a  single  instant, 
without  any  guilt  of  mine,  all  the  fruit  of 
long  years  of  precaution  and  reserve.  Inno- 
cent and  dishonored,  hidden  from  all  yet 
made  public  to  all  .  .  .  this  is  the  lot  to 
which  Candaules  has  condemned  me.  Who 
can  assure  me  that,  at  this  very  moment, 
Gyges  is  not  in  the  act  of  discoursing  upon 
my  charms  with  some  soldiers  at  the  very 
threshold  of  the  palace  ?  Oh  shame  !  Oh 
infamy!  Two  men  have  beheld  me  naked 
and  yet  at  this  instant  enjoy  the  sweet  light 
of  the  sun  !    In  what  does  Nyssia  now  differ 


KING  CANDAULES  355 

from  the  most  shameless  hetaira,  from  the 
vilest  of  courtesans  ?  This  body  which  I 
have  striven  to  render  worthy  of  being  the 
habitation  of  a  pure  and  noble  soul,  serves 
for  a  theme  of  conversation  ;  it  is  talked  of 
like  some  lascivious  idol  brought  from  Sicyon 
or  from  Corinth  ;  it  is  commended  or  found 
fault  with.  The  shoulder  is  perfect,  the  arm 
is  charming,  perhaps  a  little  thin — what  know 
I  ?  All  the  blood  of  my  heart  leaps  to  my 
cheeks  at  such  a  thought.  Oh  beauty,  fatal 
gift  of  the  gods!  why  am  I  not  the  wife  of 
some  poor  mountain  goatherd  of  innocent 
and  simple  habits  ?  He  would  not  have  sub- 
orned a  goatherd  like  himself  at  the  thresh- 
old of  his  cabin  to  profane  his  humble  hap- 
piness! My  lean  figure,  my  unkempt  hair, 
my  complexion  faded  by  the  burning  sun, 
would  then  have  saved  me  from  so  gross  an 
insult,  and  my  honest  homeliness  would  not 
have  been  compelled  to  blush.  How  shall 
I  dare,  after  the  scene  of  this  night,  to  pass 
before  those  men,  proudly  erect  under  the 
folds  of  a  tunic  which  has  no  longer  aught 
to  hide  from  either  of  them.  I  should  drop 
dead  with  shame  upon  the  pavement.     Can- 


356  KING  CANDAULES 

daules,  Candaules,  I  was  at  least  entitled  to 
more  respect  from  you,  and  there  was  noth- 
ing in  my  conduct  which  could  have  pro- 
voked such  an  outrage.  Was  I  one  of  those 
ones  whose  arms  forever  cling  like  ivy  to 
their  husbands'  necks,  and  who  seem  more 
like  slaves  bought  with  money  for  a  master's 
pleasure  than  free-born  women  of  noble 
blood  ?  Have  I  ever  after  a  repast  sung 
amorous  hymns  accompanying  myself  upon 
the  lyre,  with  wine-moist  lips,  naked  shoul- 
ders, and  a  wreath  of  roses  about  my  hair, 
or  given  you  cause,  by  any  immodest  action, 
to  treat  me  like  a  mistress  whom  one  shows 
after  a  banquet  to  his  companions  in  de- 
bauch ?  " 

While  Nyssia  was  thus  buried  in  her  grief, 
great  tears  overflowed  from  her  eyes  like 
rain-drops  from  the  azure  chalice  of  a  lotus- 
flower  after  some  storm,  and  rolling  down 
her  pale  cheeks  fell  upon  her  fair  forlorn 
hands,  languishingly  open,  like  roses  whose 
leaves  are  half-shed,  for  no  order  came  from 
the  brain  to  give  them  activity.  The  atti- 
tude of  Niobe,  beholding  her  fourteenth 
child  succumb  beneath  the  arrows  of  Apollo 


KING  CANDAULES  357 

and  Diana,  was  not  more  sadly  despairing, 
but  soon  starting  from  this  state  of  prostra- 
tion, she  rolled  herself  upon  the  floor,  rent 
her  garments,  covered  her  beautiful  dishev- 
elled hair  with  ashes,  tore  her  bosom  and 
cheeks  with  her  nails  amid  convulsive  sobs, 
and  abandoned  herself  to  all  the  excesses  of 
Oriental  grief,  the  more  violently  that  she 
had  been  forced  so  long  to  contain  her  in- 
dignation, shame,  pangs  of  wounded  dignity, 
and  all  the  agony  that  convulsed  her  soul, 
for  the  pride  of  her  whole  life  had  been 
broken,  and  the  idea  that  she  had  nothing 
wherewith  to  reproach  herself  afforded  her  no 
consolation.  As  a  poet  has  said,  only  the  in- 
nocent know  remorse.  She  was  repenting 
of  the  crime  which  another  had  committed. 

Nevertheless  she  made  an  effort  to  recover 
herself,  ordered  the  baskets  filled  with  wools 
of  different  colors,  and  the  spindles  wrapped 
with  flax  to  be  brought  to  her,  and  distrib- 
uted the  work  to  her  women  as  she  had  been 
accustomed  to  do  ;  but  she  thought  she  no- 
ticed that  the  slaves  looked  at  her  in  a  very 
peculiar  way,  and  had  ceased  to  entertain 
the  same  timid   respect  for  her  as  before. 


358  KING  CANDAULES 

Her  voice  no  longer  rang  with  the  same  as- 
surance; there  was  something  humble  and 
furtive  in  her  demeanor;  she  felt  herself  in- 
teriorly fallen. 

Doubtless  her  scruples  were  exaggerated, 
and  her  virtue  had  received  no  stain  from 
the  folly  of  Candaules;  but  ideas  imbibed 
with  a  mother's  milk  obtain  irresistible  sway, 
and  the  modesty  of  the  body  is  carried  by 
Oriental  nations  to  an  extent  almost  incom- 
prehensible to  Occidental  races.  When  a 
man  desired  to  speak  to  Nyssia  in  the  palace 
of  Megabazus  at  Bactria,  he  was  obliged  to 
do  so  keeping  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  ground, 
and  two  eunuchs  stood  beside  him,  poniard 
in  hand,  ready  to  plunge  their  keen  blades 
through  his  heart  should  he  dare  lift  his  head 
to  look  at  the  princess,  notwithstanding  that 
her  face  was  veiled.  You  may  readily  con- 
ceive, therefore,  how  deadly  an  injury  the 
action  of  Candaules  would  seem  to  a  woman 
thus  brought  up,  while  any  other  would 
doubtless  have  considered  it  only  a  culpable 
frivolity.  Thus  the  idea  of  vengeance  had 
instantly  presented  itself  to  Nyssia,  and  had 
given  her  sufficient  self-control  to  strangle 


KING   CANDAULES  359 

the  cry  of  her  offended  modesty  ere  it  reached 
her  lips,  at  the  moment  when,  turning  her 
head,  she  beheld  the  burning  eyes  of  Gyges 
flaming  through  the  darkness.  She  must 
have  possessed  the  courage  of  the  warrior  in 
ambush,  who,  wounded  by  a  random  dart, 
utters  no  syllable  of  pain  through  fear  of  be- 
traying himself  behind  his  shelter  of  foliage 
or  river-reeds,  and  in  silence  permits  his 
blood  to  stripe  his  flesh  with  long  red  lines. 
Had  she  not  withheld  that  first  impulse  to 
cry  aloud,  Candaules,  alarmed  and  fore- 
warned, would  have  kept  upon  his  guard, 
which  must  have  rendered  it  more  difficult, 
if  not  impossible,  to  carry  out  her  purpose. 

Nevertheless,  as  yet  she  had  conceived  no 
definite  plan,  but  she  had  resolved  that  the 
insult  done  to  her  honor  should  be  fully  ex- 
piated. At  first  she  had  thought  of  killing 
Candaules  herself  while  he  slept,  with  the 
sword  hung  at  the  bedside.  But  she  re- 
coiled from  the  thought  of  dipping  her  beau- 
tiful hands  in  blood;  she  feared  lest  she 
might  miss  her  blow  ;  and,  with  all  her  bit- 
ter anger,  she  hesitated  at  so  violent  and  un- 
womanly an  act. 


36o  KING  CANDAULES 

Suddenly  she  appeared  to  have  decided 
upon  some  project.  She  summoned  Statira, 
one  of  the  waiting  women  who  had  come 
with  her  from  Bactria,  and  in  whom  she 
placed  much  confidence,  and  whispered  a 
few  words  close  to  her  ear  in  a  very  low 
voice,  although  there  were  no  other  persons 
in  the  room,  as  if  she  feared  that  even  the 
walls  might  hear  her. 

Statira  bowed  low,  and  immediately  left 
the  apartment. 

Like  all  persons  who  are  actually  menaced 
by  some  great  peril,  Candaules  presumed 
himself  perfectly  secure.  He  was  certain 
that  Gyges  had  stolen  away  unperceived, 
and  he  thought  only  upon  the  delight  of 
conversing  with  him  about  the  unrivalled  at- 
tractions of  his  wife. 

So  he  caused  him  to  be  summoned,  and 
conducted  him  to  the  Court  of  the  Hera- 
cleidae. 

"  Well,  Gyges,"  he  said  to  him  with  laugh- 
ing mien,  "  I  did  not  deceive  you  when  I 
assured  you  that  you  would  not  regret  hav- 
ing passed  a  few  hours  behind  that  blessed 
door.     Am  I  right  ?     Do  you  know  of  any 


KING   CANDAULES  361 

living  woman  more  beautiful  than  the 
queen  ?  If  you  know  of  any  superior  to 
her,  tell  me  so  frankly,  and  go  bear  her  in 
my  name  this  string  of  pearls,  the  symbol 
of  power." 

**  Sire,"  replied  Gyges  in  a  voice  trem- 
bling with  emotion,  *'  no  human  creature  is 
worthy  to  compare  with  Nyssia.  It  is  not 
the  pearl  fillet  of  queens  which  should  adorn 
her  brows,  but  only  the  starry  crown  of  the 
immortals." 

"  I  well  knew  that  your  ice  must  melt  at 
last  in  the  fires  of  that  sun.  Now  can  you 
comprehend  my  passion,  my  delirium,  my 
mad  desires  ?  Is  it  not  true,  Gyges,  that 
the  heart  of  a  man  is  not  great  enough  to 
contain  such  a  love  ?  It  must  overflow  and 
diffuse  itself." 

A  hot  blush  overspread  the  cheeks  of 
Gyges,  who  now  but  too  well  comprehended 
the  admiration  of  Candaules. 

The  king  noticed  it,  and  said,  with  a  man- 
ner half  smiling,  half  serious: 

"  My  poor  friend,  do  not  commit  the  folly 
of  becoming  enamoured  of  Nyssia;  you 
would  lose  your  pains.     It  is  a  statue  which 


362  KING   CANDAULES 

I  have  enabled  you  to  see,  not  a  woman.  I 
have  allowed  you  to  read  some  stanzas  of  a 
beautiful  poem,  whereof  I  alone  possess 
the  manuscript,  merely  for  the  purpose  of 
having  your  opinion;  that  is  all.'* 

'*  You  have  no  need,  sire,  to  remind  me 
of  my  nothingness.  Sometimes  the  hum- 
blest slave  is  visited  in  his  slumbers  by  some 
radiant  and  lovely  vision,  with  ideal  forms, 
nacreous  flesh,  ambrosial  hair.  I — I  have 
dreamed  with  open  eyes;  you  are  the  god 
who  sent  me  that  dream." 

**  Now,"  continued  the  king,  "  it  will 
scarcely  be  necessary  for  me  to  enjoin  silence 
upon  you.  If  you  do  not  keep  a  seal  upon 
your  lips  you  might  learn  to  your  cost  that 
Nyssia  is  not  as  good  as  she  is  beautiful." 

The  king  waved  his  hand  in  token  of  fare- 
well to  his  confidant,  and  retired  for  the  pur- 
pose of  inspecting  an  antique  bed  sculptured 
by  Ikmalius,  a  celebrated  artisan,  which  had 
been  offered  him  for  purchase. 

Candaules  had  scarcely  disappeared  when 
a  woman,  wrapped  in  a  long  mantle  so  as  to 
leave  but  one  of  her  eyes  exposed,  after  the 
fashion  of  the  barbarians,  came  forth  from 


KING   CANDAULES  363 

the  shadow  of  a  column  behind  which  she 
had  kept  herself  hidden  during  the  conver- 
sation of  the  king  and  his  favorite,  walked 
straight  to  Gyges,  placed  her  finger  upon  his 
shoulder,  and  made  a  sign  to  him  to  follow 
her. 

CHAPTER   V 

Statira,  followed  by  Gyges,  paused  be- 
fore a  little  door,  of  which  she  raised  the 
latch  by  pulling  a  silver  ring  attached  to  a 
leathern  strap,  and  commenced  to  ascend  a 
stairway  with  rather  high  steps  contrived  in 
the  thickness  of  the  wall.  At  the  head  of 
the  stairway  was  a  second  door,  which  she 
opened  with  a  key  wrought  of  ivory  and 
brass.  As  soon  as  Gyges  entered  she  dis- 
appeared without  any  further  explanation  in 
regard  to  what  was  expected  of  him. 

The  curiosity  of  Gyges  was  mingled  with 
uneasiness.  He  could  form  no  idea  as  to 
the  significance  of  this  mysterious  message. 
He  had  a  vague  fancy  that  he  could  recog- 
nize in  the  silent  Iris  one  of  Nyssia's  women  ; 
and  the  way  by  which  she  had  made  him  fol- 


364  KING  CANDAULES 

low  her  led  to  the  queen's  apartments.  He 
asked  himself  in  terror  whether  he  had  been 
perceived  in  his  hiding-place  or  betrayed  by 
Candaules,  for  both  suppositions  seemed 
probable. 

At  the  idea  that  Nyssia  knew  all,  he  felt 
his  face  bedewed  with  a  sweat  alternately 
burnino^  and  icv.  He  soug^ht  to  flv,  but  the 
door  had  been  fastened  upon  him  by  Statira, 
and  all  escape  was  cut  off;  then  he  advanced 
into  the  chamber,  which  was  shadowed  by 
heavy  purple  hangings,  and  found  himself 
face  to  face  with  Nyssia.  He  thought  he 
beheld  a  statue  rise  before  him,  such  was 
her  pallor.  The  hues  of  life  had  abandoned 
her  face;  a  feeble  rose  tint  alone  animated 
her  lips;  on  her  tender  temples  a  few  almost 
imperceptible  veins  intercrossed  their  azure 
network  ;  tears  had  swollen  her  eyelids,  and 
left  shining  furrows  upon  the  down  of  her 
cheeks;  the  chrysoprase  tints  of  her  eyes 
had  lost  their  intensity.  She  was  even  more 
beautiful  and  touching  thus.  Sorrow  had 
given  soul  to  her  marmorean  beauty. 

Her  disordered  robe,  scarcely  fastened  to 
her  shoulders,  left  visible  her  beautiful  bare 


KING  CANDAULES  365 

arms,  her  throat,  and  the  commencement  of 
her  death-white  bosom.  Like  a  warrior  van- 
quished in  his  first  conflict,  her  beauty  had 
laid  down  its  arms.  Of  what  use  to  her 
would  have  been  the  draperies  which  conceal 
form,  the  tunics  with  their  carefully  fastened 
folds  ?  Did  not  Gyges  know  her  ?  Where- 
fore defend  what  has  been  lost  in  advance  ? 

She  walked  straight  to  Gyges,  and  fixing 
upon  him  an  imperial  look,  clear  and  com- 
manding, said  to  him,  in  a  quick,  abrupt 
voice  : 

**  Do  not  lie;  seek  no  vain  subterfuges; 
have  at  least  the  dignity  and  courage  of  your 
crime.  I  know  all  ;  I  saw  you  !  Not  a  word 
of  excuse.  I  would  not  listen  to  it.  Can- 
daules  himself  concealed  you  behind  the 
door.  Is  it  not  so  the  thing  happened  ? 
And  you  fancy,  doubtless,  that  it  is  all  over  ? 
Unhappily  I  am  not  a  Greek  woman,  pliant 
to  the  whims  of  artists  and  voluptuaries. 
Nyssia  will  not  serve  for  any  one's  toy. 
There  are  now  two  men,  one  of  whom  is  a 
man  too  much  upon  the  earth.  He  must 
disappear  from  it!  Unless  he  dies,  I  cannot 
live.     It  will  be  either  you  or  Candaules.     I 


366  KING  CANDAULES 

leave  you  master  of  the  choice.  Kill  him, 
avenge  me,  and  win  by  that  murder  both 
my  hand  and  the  throne  of  Lydia,  or  else 
shall  a  prompt  death  henceforth  prevent  you 
from  beholding,  through  a  cowardly  com- 
plaisance, what  you  have  not  the  right  to 
look  upon.  He  who  commanded  is  more 
culpable  than  he  who  has  only  obeyed  ;  and, 
moreover,  should  you  become  my  husband, 
no  one  will  have  ever  seen  me  without  hav- 
ing the  right  to  do  so.  But  make  your  de- 
cision at  once,  for  two  of  those  four  eyes  in 
which  my  nudity  has  reflected  itself  must 
before  this  very  evening  be  forever  extin- 
guished." 

This  strange  alternative,  proposed  with  a 
terrible  coolness,  with  an  immutable  resolu- 
tion, so  utterly  surprised  Gyges,  who  was 
expecting  reproaches,  menaces,  and  a  vio- 
lent scene,  that  he  remained  for  several  min- 
utes without  color  and  without  voice,  livid 
as  a  shade  on  the  shores  of  the  black  rivers 
of  hell. 

**  I  !  to  dip  my  hands  in  the  blood  of  my 
master!  Is  it  indeed  you,  O  Queen,  who 
demand  of  me  so  great  a  penalty  ?     I  com- 


KING  CANDAULES  367 

prehend  all  your  anger,  I  feel  it  to  be  just, 
and  it  was  not  my  fault  that  this  outrage 
took  place;  but  you  know  that  kings  are 
mighty,  they  descend  from  a  divine  race. 
Our  destinies  repose  on  their  august  knees; 
and  it  is  not  we,  feeble  mortals,  who  may 
hesitate  at  their  commands.  Their  will  over- 
throws our  refusal,  as  a  dyke  is  swept  away 
by  a  torrent.  By  your  feet  that  I  kiss,  by 
the  hem  of  your  robe  which  I  touch  as  a 
suppliant,  be  clement!  Forget  this  injury, 
which  is  known  to  none,  and  which  shall  re- 
main eternally  buried  in  darkness  and  silence  ! 
Candaules  worships  you,  admires  you,  and 
his  fault  springs  only  from  an  excess  of  love.  " 
**  Were  you  addressing  a  sphinx  of  granite 
in  the  arid  sands  of  Egypt,  you  would  have 
more  chance  of  melting  her.  The  winged 
words  might  fly  uninterruptedly  from  your 
lips  for  a  whole  olympiad;  you  could  not 
move  my  resolution  in  the  slightest.  A 
heart  of  brass  dwells  in  this  marble  breast  of 
mine.  Die  or  kill  !  When  the  sunbeam 
which  has  passed  through  the  curtains  shall 
touch  the  foot  of  this  table  let  your  choice 
have  been  made,     I  wait." 


368  KING  CANDAULES 

And  Nyssia  crossed  her  arms  upon  her 
breast  in  an  attitude  replete  with  sombre 
majesty. 

To  behold  her  standing  erect,  motionless 
and  pale,  her  eyes  fixed,  her  brows  con- 
tracted, her  hair  in  disorder,  her  foot  firmly 
placed  upon  the  pavement,  one  would  have 
taken  her  for  Nemesis  descended  from  her 
griffin,  and  awaiting  the  hour  to  smite  a 
guilty  one. 

"The  shadowy  depths  of  Hades  are  vis- 
ited by  none  with  pleasure,"  answered 
Gyges.  **  It  is  sweet  to  enjoy  the  pure  light 
of  day  ;  and  the  heroes  themselves  who  dwell 
in  the  Fortunate  Isles  would  gladly  return 
to  their  native  land.  Each  man  has  the  in- 
stinct of  self-preservation,  and  since  blood 
must  flow,  let  it  be  rather  from  the  veins  of 
another  than  from  mine." 

To  these  sentiments,  avowed  by  Gyges 
with  antique  frankness,  were  added  others 
more  noble  whereof  he  did  not  speak.  He 
was  desperately  in  love  with  Nyssia  and  jeal- 
ous of  Candaules.  It  was  not,  therefore, 
the  fear  of  death  alone  that  had  induced  him 
to  undertake  this  bloody  task.     The  thought 


KING  CANDAULES  369 

of  leaving  Candaules  in  free  possession  of 
Nyssia  was  insupportable  to  him  ;  and,  more- 
over, the  vertigo  of  fatality  had  seized  him. 
By  a  succession  of  irregular  and  terrible 
events  he  beheld  himself  hurried  toward  the 
realization  of  his  dreams;  a  mighty  wave 
had  lifted  him  and  borne  him  on  in  despite 
of  his  efforts;  Nyssia  herself  was  extending 
her  hand  to  him,  to  help  him  to  ascend  the 
steps  of  the  royal  throne.  All  this  had 
caused  him  to  forget  that  Candaules  was  his 
master  and  his  benefactor;  for  none  can  flee 
from  Fate,  and  Necessity  walks  on  with  nails 
in  one  hand  and  whip  in  the  other,  to  stop 
your  advance  or  to  urge  you  forward. 

It  is  well,"  replied  Nyssia;  "  here  is  the 
means  of  execution."  And  she  drew  from 
her  bosom  a  Bactrian  poniard,  with  a  jade 
handle  enriched  with  inlaid  circles  of  white 
gold.  "  This  blade  is  not  made  of  brass, 
but  with  iron  difficult  to  work,  tempered  in 
flame  and  water,  so  that  Hephaistos  himself 
could  not  forge  one  more  keenly  pointed  or 
finely  edged.  It  would  pierce,  like  thin 
papyrus,  metal  cuirasses  and  bucklers  of 
dragon's  skin. 
24 


370  KING  CANDAULES 

"  The  time,"  she  continued  with  the  same 
icy  coolness,  "  shall  be  while  he  slumbers. 
Let  him  sleep  and  wake  no  more!  " 

Her  accomplice,  Gyges,  hearkened  to  her 
words  with  stupefaction,  for  he  had  never 
thought  he  could  find  such  resolution  in  a 
woman  who  could  not  bring  herself  to  lift 
her  veil. 

"  The  ambuscade  shall  be  laid  in  the  very 
same  place  where  the  infamous  one  concealed 
you  in  order  to  expose  me  to  your  gaze.  At 
the  approach  of  night  I  shall  turn  back  one 
of  the  folding  doors  upon  you,  undress  my- 
self, lie  down,  and  when  he  shall  be  asleep 
I  will  give  you  a  signal.  Above  all  things, 
let  there  be  no  hesitancy,  no  feebleness;  and 
take  heed  that  your  hand  does  not  tremble 
when  the  moment  shall  have  come  !  And 
now,  for  fear  lest  you  might  change  your 
mind,  I  propose  to  make  sure  of  your  per- 
son until  the  fatal  hour.  You  might  at- 
tempt to  escape,  to  forewarn  your  master. 
Do  not  think  to  do  so." 

Nyssia  whistled  in  a  peculiar  way,  and  im- 
mediately from  behind  a  Persian  tapestry 
embroidered    with    flowers,    there  appeared 


KING  CANDAULES  yjl 

four  monsters,  swarthy,  clad  in  robes  diag- 
onally striped,  which  left  visible  arms  mus- 
cled and  gnarled  as  trunks  of  oaks.  Their 
thick  pouting  lips,  the  gold  rings  which  they 
wore  through  the  partition  of  their  nostrils, 
their  great  teeth  sharp  as  the  fangs  of  wolves, 
the  expression  of  stupid  servility  on  their 
faces,  rendered  them  hideous  to  behold. 

The  queen  pronounced  some  words  in  a 
language  unknown  to  Gyges,  doubtless  in 
Bactrian,  and  the  four  slaves  rushed  upon 
the  young  man,  seized  him,  and  carried  him 
away,  even  as  a  nurse  might  carry  off  a  child 
in  the  fold  of  her  robe. 

Now  what  were  Nyssia's  real  thoughts  ? 
Had  she,  indeed,  noticed  Gyges  at  the  time 
of  her  meeting  with  him  near  Bactria,  and 
preserved  some  memory  of  the  young  cap- 
tain in  one  of  those  secret  recesses  of  the 
heart  where  even  the  most  virtuous  women 
always  have  something  buried  ?  Was  the 
desire  to  avenge  her  modesty  goaded  by 
some  other  unacknowledged  desire  ?  And 
if  Gyges  had  not  been  the  handsomest  young 
man  in  all  Asia  would  she  have  evinced  the 
same  ardor  in  punishing  Candaules  for  hav- 


372  KING  CANDAULES 

ing  outraged  the  sanctity  of  marriage  ?  That 
is  a  delicate  question  to  resolve,  especially 
after  a  lapse  of  three  thousand  years;  and 
although  we  have  consulted  Herodotus, 
Hephsestion,  Plato,  Dositheus,  Archilochus 
of  Paros,  Hesychius  of  Miletus,  Ptolomceus, 
Euphorion,  and  all  who  have  spoken  either 
at  length  or  in  only  a  few  words  concerning 
Candaules,  Nyssia,  and  Gyges,  we  have  been 
unable  to  arrive  at  any  definite  conclusion. 
To  pursue  so  fleeting  a  shadow  through  so 
many  centuries,  under  the  ruins  of  so  many 
crumbled  empires,  under  the  dust  of  de- 
parted nations,  is  a  work  of  extreme  diffi- 
culty, not  to  say  impossibility. 

At  all  events,  Nyssia's  resolution  was  im- 
placably taken  ;  this  murder  appeared  to  her 
in  the  light  of  the  accomplishment  of  a 
sacred  duty.  Among  the  barbarian  nations 
every  man  who  has  surprised  a  woman  in 
her  nakedness  is  put  to  death.  The  queen 
believed  herself  exercising  her  right;  only 
inasmuch  as  the  injury  had  been  secret,  she 
was  doing  herself  justice  as  best  she  could. 
The  passive  accomplice  would  become  the 
executioner  of  the  other,  and  the  punish- 


KING   CANDAULES  yj^ 

ment  would  thus  spring  from  the  crime  it- 
self.    The  hand  would  chastise  the  head. 

The  oHve-tinted  monsters  shut  Gyges  up 
in  an  obscure  portion  of  the  palace,  whence 
it  was  impossible  that  he  could  escape,  or 
that  his  cries  could  be  heard. 

He  passed  the  remainder  of  the  day  there 
in  a  state  of  cruel  anxiety,  accusing  the 
hours  of  being  lame,  and  again  of  walking 
too  speedily.  The  crime  which  he  was 
about  to  commit,  although  he  was  only,  in 
some  sort,  the  instrument  of  it,  and  though 
he  was  only  yielding  to  an  irresistible  influ- 
ence, presented  itself  to  his  mind  in  the 
most  sombre  colors.  If  the  blow  should 
miss  through  one  of  those  circumstances 
which  none  could  foresee  ?  If  the  people 
of  Sardes  should  revolt  and  seek  to  avenge 
the  death  of  the  king  ?  Such  were  the  very 
sensible  though  useless  reflections  which 
Gyges  made  while  waiting  to  be  taken  from 
his  prison  and  led  to  the  place  whence  he 
could  only  depart  to  strike  his  master. 

At  last  the  night  unfolded  her  starry  robe 
in  the  sky,  and  its  shadow  fell  upon  the  city 
and  the  palace.      A  light  footstep  became 


374  KING  CANDAULES 

audible,  a  veiled  woman  entered  the  room  and 
conducted  him  through  the  obscure  corridors 
and  multiplied  mazes  of  the  royal  edifice  with 
as  much  confidence  as  though  she  had  been 
preceded  by  a  slave  bearing  a  lamp  or  a  torch. 

The  hand  which  held  that  of  Gyges  was 
cold,  soft,  and  small;  nevertheless  those 
slender  fingers  clasped  it  with  a  bruising 
force,  as  the  fingers  of  some  statue  of  brass 
animated  by  a  prodigy  would  have  done. 
The  rigidity  of  an  inflexible  will  betrayed 
itself  in  that  ever-equal  pressure  as  of  a  vise 
— a  pressure  which  no  hesitation  of  head  or 
heart  came  to  vary.  Gyges,  conquered,  sub- 
jugated, crushed,  yielded  to  that  imperious 
traction,  as  though  he  were  borne  along  by 
the  mighty  arm  of  Fate. 

Alas  !  it  was  not  thus  he  had  wished  to 
touch  for  the  first  time  that  fair  royal  hand, 
which  had  presented  the  poniard  to  him,  and 
was  leading  him  to  murder,  for  it  was  Nyssia 
herself  who  had  come  for  Gyges,  to  conceal 
him  in  the  place  of  ambuscade. 

No  word  was  exchanged  between  the  sin- 
ister couple  on  the  way  from  the  prison  to 
the  nuptial  chamber. 


KING  CANDAULES  375 

The  queen  unfastened  the  thongs,  raised 
the  bar  of  the  entrance,  and  placed  Gyges 
behind  the  folding  door  as  Candaules  had 
done  the  evening  previous.  This  repetition 
of  the  same  acts,  with  so  different  a  purpose, 
had  something  of  a  lugubrious  and  fatal 
character.  Vengeance,  this  time,  had  placed 
her  foot  upon  every  track  left  by  the  insult. 
The  chastisement  and  the  crime  alike  fol- 
lowed the  same  path.  Yesterday  it  was  the 
turn  of  Candaules,  to-day  it  was  that  of 
Nyssia;  and  Gyges,  accomplice  in  the  in- 
jury, was  also  accomplice  in  the  penalty. 
He  had  served  the  king  to  dishonor  the 
queen  ;  he  would  serve  the  queen  to  kill  the 
king,  equally  exposed  by  the  vices  of  the 
one  and  the  virtues  of  the  other. 

The  daughter  of  Megabazus  seemed  to 
feel  a  savage  joy,  a  ferocious  pleasure,  in 
employing  only  the  same  means  chosen  by 
the  Lydian  king,  and  turning  to  account 
for  the  murder  those  very  precautions  which 
had  been  adopted  for  voluptuous  fantasy. 

"  You  will  again  this  evening  see  me  take 
off  these  garments  which  are  so  displeasing 
to    Candaules.     This   spectacle   should   be- 


yj^  KING   CANDAULES 

come  wearisome  to  you,"  said  the  queen  in 
accents  of  bitter  irony,  as  she  stood  on  the 
threshold  of  the  chamber;  "  you  will  end  by 
finding  me  ugly."  And  a  sardonic,  forced 
laugh  momentarily  curled  her  pale  mouth  ; 
then,  regaining  her  impassible  severity  of 
mien,  she  continued:  "  Do  not  imagine  you 
will  be  able  to  steal  away  this  time  as  you 
did  before;  you  know  my  sight  is  piercing. 
At  the  slightest  movement  on  your  part  I 
shall  awake  Candaules  ;  and  you  know  that 
it  will  not  be  easy  for  you  to  explain  what 
you  are  doing  in  the  king's  apartments,  be- 
hind a  door,  with  a  poniard  in  your  hand. 
Further,  my  Bactrian  slaves,  the  copper- 
colored  mutes  who  imprisoned  you  a  short 
time  ago,  guard  all  the  issues  of  the  palace, 
with  orders  to  massacre  you  should  you  at- 
tempt to  go  out.  Therefore  let  no  vain 
scruples  of  fidelity  cause  you  to  hesitate. 
Think  that  I  will  make  you  King  of  Sardes, 
and  that  ...  I  will  love  you  if  you  avenge 
me.  The  blood  of  Candaules  will  be  your 
purple,  and  his  death  will  make  for  you  a 
place  in  that  bed." 

The  slaves  came  according  to  their  custom 


KING  CANDAULES  ^17 

to  change  the  fuel  in  the  tripod,  renew  the 
oil  in  the  lamps,  spread  tapestry  and  the 
skins  of  animals  upon  the  royal  couch  ;  and 
Nyssia  hurried  into  the  chamber  as  soon  as 
she  heard  their  footsteps  resounding  in  the 
distance. 

In  a  short  time  Candaules  arrived  all  joy- 
ous. He  had  purchased  the  bed  of  Ikmalius 
and  proposed  to  substitute  it  for  the  bed 
wrought  after  the  Oriental  fashion,  which  he 
declared  had  never  been  much  to  his  taste. 
He  seemed  pleased  to  find  that  Nyssia  had 
already  retired  to  the  nuptial  chamber. 

"  The  trade  of  embroidery,  and  spindles, 
and  needles  seems  not  to  have  the  same  at- 
traction for  you  to-day  as  usual.  In  fact,  it 
is  a  monotonous  labor  to  perpetually  pass 
one  thread  between  other  threads,  and  I 
wonder  at  the  pleasure  which  you  seem  or- 
dinarily to  take  in  it.  To  tell  the  truth,  I 
am  afraid  that  some  fine  day  Pallas-Athena, 
on  finding  you  so  skilful,  will  break  her  shut- 
tle over  your  head  as  she  once  did  to  poor 
Arachne." 

"  My  lord,  I  felt  somewhat  tired  this  even- 
ing,  and  so   came  down-stairs  sooner  than 


37S  KING   CANDAULES 

usual.  Would  you  not  like  before  going  to 
sleep  to  drink  a  cup  of  black  Samian  wine 
mixed  with  the  honey  of  Hymettus  ?  '  '  And 
she  poured  from  a  golden  urn,  into  a  cup  of 
the  same  metal,  the  sombre-colored  bever- 
age which  she  had  mingled  with  the  soporif- 
erous  juice  of  the  nepenthe. 

Candaules  took  the  cup  by  both  handles 
and  drained  it  to  the  last  drop  ;  but  the 
young  Heracleid  had  a  strong  head,  and 
sinking  his  elbow  into  the  cushions  of  his 
couch  he  watched  Nyssia  undressing  with- 
out any  sign  that  the  dust  of  sleep  was  com- 
mencing to  gather  upon  his  eyes. 

As  on  the  evening  before,  Nyssia  unfast- 
ened her  hair  and  permitted  its  rich  blonde 
waves  to  ripple  over  her  shoulders.  From 
his  hiding-place  Gyges  fancied  that  he  saw 
those  locks  slowly  becoming  suffused  with 
tawny  tints,  illuminated  with  reflections  of 
blood  and  flame;  and  their  heavy  curls 
seemed  to  lengthen  v/ith  vipérine  undula- 
tions, like  the  hair  of  the  Gorgons  and  Me- 
dusas. 

All  simple  and  graceful  as  that  action  was 
in  itself,   it  took  from   the  terrible  events 


KING   CANDAULES  379 

about  to  transpire  a  frightful  and  ominous 
character,  which  caused  the  hidden  assassin 
to  shudder  with  terror. 

Nyssia  then  unfastened  her  bracelets,  but, 
agitated  as  her  hands  had  been  by  nervous 
straining,  they  ill  served  her  will.  She  broke 
the  string  of  a  bracelet  of  beads  of  amber 
inlaid  with  gold,  which  rolled  over  the  floor 
with  a  loud  noise,  causing  Candaules  to  re- 
open his  gradually  closing  eyes. 

Each  one  of  those  beads  fell  upon  the 
heart  of  Gyges  as  a  drop  of  molten  lead  falls 
upon  water. 

Having  unlaced  her  buskins,  the  queen 
threw  her  upper  tunic  over  the  back  of  an 
ivory  chair.  This  drapery,  thus  arranged, 
produced  upon  Gyges  the  effect  of  one  of 
those  sinister-folding  winding  sheets  wherein 
the  dead  were  wrapped  ere  being  borne  to 
the  funeral  pyre.  Every  object  in  that 
room,  which  had  the  evening  before  seemed 
to  him  one  scene  of  smiling  splendor,  now 
appeared  to  him  livid,  dim,  and  menacing. 
The  statues  of  basalt  rolled  their  eyes  and 
smiled  hideously.  The  lamp  flickered 
weirdly,   and  its  flame  dishevelled  itself  in 


38o  KING   CANDAULES 

red  and  sanguine  rays  like  the  crest  of  a 
comet.  Far  back  in  the  dimly  lighted  cor- 
ners loomed  the  monstrous  forms  of  the 
Lares  and  Lémures.  The  mantles  hanging 
from  their  hooks  seemed  animated  by  a  fac- 
titious life,  and  assumed  a  human  aspect  of 
vitality;  and  when  Nyssia,  stripped  of  her 
last  garment,  approached  the  bed,  all  white 
and  naked  as  a  shade,  he  thought  that  Death 
herself  had  broken  the  diamond  fetters 
wherewith  Hercules  of  old  enchained  her  at 
the  gates  of  hell  when  he  delivered  Alcestes, 
and  had  come  in  person  to  take  possession 
of  Candaules. 

Overcome  by  the  power  of  the  nepenthe- 
juice,  the  king  at  last  slumbered.  Nyssia 
made  a  sign  for  Gyges  to  come  forth  from 
his  retreat  ;  and,  laying  her  finger  upon  the 
breast  of  the  victim,  she  directed  upon  her 
accomplice  a  look  so  humid,  so  lustrous,  so 
weighty  with  languishment,  so  replete  with 
intoxicating  promise,  that  Gyges,  maddened 
and  fascinated,  sprang  from  his  hiding-place 
like  the  tiger  from  the  summit  of  the  rock 
where  it  has  been  crouching,  traversed  the 
chamber  at  a  bound,  and  plunged  the  Bac- 


KING  CANDAULES  381 

trian  poniard  up  to  the  very  hilt  in  the  heart 
of  the  descendant  of  Hercules.  The  chas- 
tity of  Nyssia  was  avenged,  and  the  dream 
of  Gyges  accomplished. 

Thus  ended  the  dynasty  of  the  Hera- 
cleidae,  after  having  endured  for  five  hun- 
dred and  five  years,  and  commenced  that  of 
the  Mermnades  in  the  person  of  Gyges,  son 
of  Dascylus.  The  Sardians,  indignant  at 
the  death  of  Candaules,  threatened  revolt; 
but  the  oracle  of  Delphi  having  declared  in 
favor  of  Gyges,  who  had  sent  thither  a  vast 
number  of  silver  vases  and  six  golden  cratera 
of  the  value  of  thirty  talents,  the  new  king 
maintained  his  seat  on  the  throne  of  Lydia, 
which  he  occupied  for  many  long  years,  lived 
happily,  and  never  showed  his  wife  to  any 
one,  knowing  too  well  what  it  cost. 


ADDENDA 


•'  ONE   OF  CLEOPATRA  S  NIGHTS 

A.  There  is  no  correct  English  plural  of  "  ne- 
cropolis "  ;  the  French  word  nécropole  is  more 
normal.  As  the  Greek  plural  could  not  be  used  very 
euphoniously,  and  as  I  have  tried  throughout  to 
render  an  exact  English  equivalent  for  each  French 
word  whenever  comprehensible,  I  beg  indulgence 
for  the  illegitimate  plural  "  necropoli,"  used  to  sig- 
nify more  than  one  necropolis,  as  an  equivalent  for 
the  French  nécropoles. 

B.  In  the  opening  scene  of  "One  of  Cleopatra's 
Nights,"  the  reader  may  be  surprised  at  the  expres- 
sion "  the  chucklitig  of  the  crocodiles."  Our  own 
southern  alligators  often  make  a  little  noise  which 
could  not  be  better  described — a  low,  guttural  sound, 
bearing  a  sinister  resemblance  to  a  human  chuckle 
or  subdued,  sneering  laugh.  A  Creole  friend  who 
has  lived  much  in  those  regions  of  Southern  Louisi- 
ana intersected  by  bayous  and  haunted  by  alligators, 
comprehended  at  once  the  whole  force  of  the  term 


384  ADDENDA 

rire  étouffe  as  applied  to  the  sounds  made  by  the 
crocodile.  "  Je  V ai  entendu  souvent,^'  he  said,  with 
a  smile. 

"clarimonde" 

The  idea  of  love  after  death  has  been  introduced 
by  Gautier  into  several  beautiful  creations,  some- 
times Hoffmanesquely,  sometimes  v^ith  an  exquisite 
sweetness  peculiarly  his  own.  Among-  his  most 
touching  poems  there  is  a  fantastic — Les  Tâches 
Jatmes — so  remarkable  that  I  cannot  refrain  from 
offering-  a  rude  translation  of  it.  Though  trans- 
planted even  by  a  master-hand  into  the  richest  soil 
of  another  language,  such  poetical  flora  necessarily 
lose  something  of  their  strange  color  and  magical 
perfume.  In  this  instance  the  translator,  who  is  no 
poet,  only  strives  to  convey  the  beautiful  weirdness 
of  the  original  idea  : 

With  elbow  buried  in  the  downy  pillow 

I've  lain  and  read, 
All  through  the  night,  a  volume  strangely  written 

In  tongues  long  dead. 

For  at  my  bedside  lie  no  dainty  slippers  ; 

And,  save  my  own, 
Under  the  paling  lamp  I  hear  no  breathing  : — 

I  am  alone  ! 

But  there  are  yellow  bruises  on  my  body 

And  violet  stains  ; 
Though  no  white  vampire  came  with  lips  blood-crimsoned 

To  suck  my  veins  ! 


ADDENDA  38$ 

Now  I  bethink  me  of  a  sweet  weird  story, 

That  in  the  dark 
Our  dead  loves  thus  with  seal  of  chilly  kisses 

Our  bodies  mark. 

Gliding  beneath  the  coverings  of  our  couches 

They  share  our  rest, 
And  with  their  dead  lips  sign  their  loving  visit 

On  arm  and  breast. 

Darksome  and  cold  the  bed  where  now  she  slumbers, 

I  loved  in  vain, 
With  sweet  soft  eyelids  closed,  to  be  reopened 

Never  again. 

Dead  sweetheart,  can  it  be  that  thou  hast  lifted 

With  thy  frail  hand 
Thy  coffin-Hd,  to  come  to  me  again 

From  Shadowland  ? 

Thou  who,  one  joyous  night,  didst,  pale  and  speechless, 

Pass  from  us  all. 
Dropping  thy  silken  mask  and  gift  of  flowers 

Amidst  the  ball  ? 

Oh,  fondest  of  my  loves,  from  that  far  heaven 

Where  thou  must  be. 
Hast  thou  returned  to  pay  the  debt  of  kisses 

Thou  owest  me  ? 


"  ARRIA   MARCELLA 

Gautier    doubtless   obtained    inspiration    for   this 
exquisite  romance  from  an  old  Greek  ghost  story, 
25 


386  ADDENDA 

first  related  by  Phlegon,  the  freedman  of  Hadrian. 
Versions  of  it  were  current  in  the  twelfth  and  six- 
teenth centuries  ;  and  Goethe  reproduced  it  in  his 
"  Bride  of  Corinth."  We  offer  a  translation  from  the 
brief  version  of  Michelet,  who  accuses  Goethe  of  bad 
taste  for  having  introduced  the  Slavic  idea  of  vam- 
pirism into  a  purely  Greek  story. 

*  * 

A  young  Athenian  goes  to  Corinth  to  visit  the 
house  of  the  man  who  has  promised  him  his  daugh- 
ter in  marriage.  He  has  always  remained  a  pagan, 
and  does  not  know  that  the  family  into  which  he 
hopes  to  enter  has  been  converted  to  Christianity. 
He  arrives  at  a  very  late  hour.  All  are  in  bed 
except  the  mother,  who  prepares  a  hospitable  repast 
for  him,  and  then  leaves  him  to  repose.  He  throws 
himself  upon  a  couch,  overwhelmed  with  fatigue. 
Scarcely  has  he  closed  his  eyes,  when  a  figure  enters 
the  room  ;  it  is  a  girl,  all  clad  in  white,  with  a  white 
veil  ;  there  is  ablack-and-gold  fillet  about  her  brows. 
She  beholds  him.  Astonishment!  Lifting  her  white 
hand,  she  exclaims  : 

"  Am  I  then  such  a  stranger  in  the  house  ?  Alas  ! 
poor  recluse  that  I  am  !  But  I  am  ashamed  to  be 
here.     I  shall  now  depart.     Repose  in  peace  !  " 

"  Nay,  remain,  beautiful  young  girl  !  Behold  ! 
here  are  Ceres,  Bacchus,  and,  with  thee,  Love  !  Fear 
not  !  be  not  so  pale  !" 

"Ah  !  touch  me  not,  young  man!  I  belong  no 
more   to  joy.     Through   a  vow  made  by  my  sick 


ADDENDA  387 

mother,  my  youth  and  life  are  fettered  forever.  The 
gods  have  fled  away.  And  now  the  only  sacrifices 
are  sacrifices  of  human  victims." 

"  What  !  is  it  thou  !  thou,  my  beloved  affianced, 
betrothed  to  me  from  childhood  !  The  oath  of  our 
fathers  bound  us  together  forever  under  the  benedic- 
tion of  heaven  !     Oh,  virgin,  be  mine  !" 

"Nay,  friend,  nay  ! — not  I.  Thou  shalt  have  my 
young  sister.  If  I  sigh  in  my  chill  prison,  thou 
mayst,  at  least,  while  in  her  arms,  think  of  me,  of 
me  who  pines  and  thinks  only  of  thee,  and  whom  the 
earth  must  soon  cover  again." 

"  Never  !  I  swear  it  by  this  flame,  it  is  the  torch 
of  Hymen.  Thou  shalt  come  with  me  to  my  father's 
house.     Remain,  my  well-beloved  !  " 

For  marriage-gift  he  offers  her  a  cup  of  gold. 
She  gives  him  her  chain  ;  but  prefers  a  lock  of  his 
hair  to  the  cup. 

It  is  the  ghostly  hour.  She  sips  with  her  pale  lips 
the  dark  wine  that  is  the  color  of  blood.  Eagerly 
he  drinks  after  her.  He  invokes  Love.  She,  though 
her  poor  heart  was  dying  for  it,  nevertheless  resists 
him.  But  he,  in  despair,  casts  himself  upon  the  bed 
and  weeps.  Then  she,  flinging  herself  down  beside 
him,  murmurs  : 

"  Ah  !  how  much  hurt  thy  pain  causes  me  !  Yet 
shouldst  thou  touch  me — what  horror  !  White  as 
snow,  cold  as  ice,  alas  !  is  thy  betrothed  !  " 

"  I  shall  warm  thee,  love  !  come  to  me  !  even  though 
thou  hadst  but  this  moment  left  the  tomb.     .     .     ." 

Sighs   and  kisses  are  exchanged.     .     .     .     Love 


388  ADDENDA 

binds  and  fetters  them.  Tears  mingle  with  happi- 
ness. Thirstily  she  drinks  the  fire  of  his  lips;  her 
long-congealed  blood  takes  flame  with  amorous  mad- 
ness, yet  no  heart  beats  in  her  breast. 

But  the  mother  was  there  ;  listening.  Sweet  vows  ; 
cries  of  plaint  and  pleasure.  "  Hush,"  says  the 
bride  ;  "  I  hear  the  cock  crow  !  Farewell,  till  to- 
morrow, after  nightfall."  Then  adieu,  and  the  sound 
of  kisses  smothering  kisses. 

Indignant,  the  mother  enters.  What  does  she 
behold  !  Her  daughter  !  He  seeks  to  hide  her — to 
veil  her  !  But  she  disengages  herself  ;  and  waxing 
taller,  towers  from  the  couch  to  the  roof. 

"  O,  mother,  mother  !  dost  thou  then  envy  me  my 
sweet  night?  dost  thou  seek  to  drive  me  from  this 
warm  place  ?  Was  it  not  enough  to  have  wrapped 
me  in  the  shroud,  and  borne  me  so  early  to  the  tomb  ! 
But  there  was  a  power  that  lifted  the  stone  !  Vainly 
did  thy  priests  hum  above  my  grave.  What  avail 
salt  and  water  where  youth  burns  ?  The  earth  may 
not  chill  love.  .  .  .  Thou  didst  promise  me  to 
this  youth.     ...     I  come  to  claim  my  right. 

"  Alack  !  friend,  thou  must  die.  Here  thou  must 
pine  and  wither  away.  I  possess  thy  hair  ;  to-mor- 
row it  shall  be  white.  .  .  .  Mother,  a  last  prayer  ! 
Open  my  black  dungeon  ;  erect  a  funeral  pyre  ;  and 
let  the  sweetheart  obtain  the  repose  that  only  flames 
can  give.  Let  the  sparks  gush  out,  let  the  ashes 
redden  !  We  return  to  our  ancient  gods." — [La 
Sorcière,  pages  32-34  ;  edition  of  1863. 


Press  of  J.  J.  Little  &  Co. 
Astor  Place,  New  York 


UNI\TERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


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